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MABEL     BARNE5-GR.VNDY 


Hazel  of  Heatherland 


Hazel 

of  Heatherland 

By 

Mabel  Barnes -Grundy 


New  York 
The  Baker  &  Taylor  Co. 

33-37  East  Seventeenth  Street 
Union  Square  North 


COPYRIGHT,  1906,  BT 
THE  BAKER  &  TAYLOR  CO. 


PUBLISHED,  MARCH,  1906 


Pvblisherf  Printing  Company,  New  York 


in  Heatherland 


2229127 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

/.  Sammy  Imparts  Some  News 9 

71.  On  How  I  Became  Acquainted  with  Mr.  Inderwick   .  23 

777.  Sammy  and  Rose  Gossip  on  an  Unimportant  Matter  .  31 
IV.  I  Receive  a  Snub  from  Mr.  Inderwick,  which  Renders 

Me  Angry 40 

V.  An  Encounter  with  Mr.  Inderwick 66 

VI.  I  Go  on  a  Visit  to  Aunt  Menelophe 65 

F77.  7  Receive  a  Letter  from  Mother  and  Some  Good  Advice 

on  Dress  from  Aunt  Menelophe 81 

'''777.  A  Dinner  Party,  Followed  by  my  Seeing  the  Ghost    .  93 
IX.  I  Return  Home,  and  Exchange  Sentiments  with  Jerry 

on  Autumn 106 

X.  An  AU-Hattowf  E'en  Party 116 

XI.  We  Go  to  Tea  with  Mr.  Inderwick,  and  I  Describe  the 

Dusting  of  Parian  Jugs 132 

Z77.  On  Wash-Days 145 

XIII.  Mr.  Inderwick  Accompanies  me  to  Gayton  to  Buy 

Butter 153 

XIV.  I  Tamper  Successfully  with  a  Keyhole  and  Lunch  at 

Piper's  Well 170 

XV.  On  the  Repairing  of  a  Lock  and  my  Drive  with  Mr. 

Inderwick 105 

XVI.  lama  Little  Poorly,  and  Mr.  Inderwick  Cattt  .    .    .  213 

17] 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVII.  I  Unfortunately  Knock  off  a  Piece  of  Angela's  Hair, 

and  She  is  Extremely  Annoyed 225 

XVIII.  Mr.  Inderwick  Asks  a  Direct  Question,  and  I  Reply  237 
XIX.  I  Desire  to  be  a  Lotus-Eater,  and  Sammy  Brings  me 

Rudely  to  Earth 255 

XX.  I  Start  on  a  Second  Visit  to  Aunt  Menelophe,  and 

Robert  Inderwick  Sees  me  Off 265 

XXI.  Aunt  Menelophe  Holds  Forth  on  the  Subject  of  Mar- 
riage         279 

X.XII.  I  Am  Confronted  with  Another  Perplexing  Situation  294 

XXIII.  I  Make  My  Decision,  And  Am  Not  Altogether  Happy  302 

XXIV.  I  Have  Some  Little  Differences  with  Eustace  .     .     .  313 
XXV.  A  Walk  in  the  Rain,  and  Eustace  Talks  Ruskin  .     .  326 

XXVI.  Eustace  Annoys  me,  and  I  Retire  to  my  Room  to 

Sew 830 

XXVII.  I  Receive  Some  Letters  of  Congratulation,  and  Eustace 

Again  Annoys  me 841 

XXVIII.  I  Take  Decisive  Steps 358 

XXIX.  Aunt  Menelophe  Scolds  and  Afterward  Comforts  me  .  371 

XXX.  I  Find  Happiness 877 

XXXI.  The  Eve  of  my  Wedding-day 885 


[8] 


Hazel  of  Heatherland 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 


CHAPTER  I 

Sammy  Imparts  Some  News 

WHEN  I  was  a  little  girl  of,  say,  eight  years  of 
age,  Sammy  gave  me  a  hedgehog.  From  that 
day  to  this  he  and  I  have  been  close  friends. 
I  remember  the  occasion  well.  I  was  huddled  up  on 
the  floor  in  our  small  school-room  endeavoring  to  write 
out  the  future  tense  of  parler,  to  speak.  My  eyes 
smarted  with  unshed  tears,  my  throat  was  swollen  with 
suppressed  sobs — for  outside  a  summer  day  reigned  su- 
preme, and  it  was  full  of  sunshine  and  flowers  and  the 
scent  of  hay — when  I  heard  the  familiar  sound  of 
Sammy's  corduroys  beneath  the  window. 

"It's  a  little  'edge'og,  Miss  Hazelt,  I  have  brought 
you.  I  found  it  asleep  under  the  'edge  in  the  croft," 
he  handed  it  in  as  he  spoke,  a  round,  prickly  ball, 
"  and  I  have  just  seen  the  mistress  and  Miss  Timmins 

and  Miss  Angela  go  out,  and "  his  voice  dropped 

to  a  cautious  whisper. 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

"Thank  you,  Sammy,  you  needn't  help  me,"  was 
all  I  said,  as  I  crept  through  the  window  and  jumped 
lightly  to  the  ground. 

Sammy  tempted  me  in  those  days,  and  I  fell;  he 
tempts  me  now,  and  I  still  fall.  This  afternoon  he 
brought  me  some  strawberries  on  a  shiny  rhubarb 
leaf;  they  were  of  a  large  size  and  beautiful  color. 

"But  Miss  Angela  is  making  jam  to-morrow,"  I 
protested  weakly. 

<JA  few  strawberries  'ere  and  there  won't  make 
much  difference." 

"  No,  perhaps  not,"  I  said  still  more  weakly. 

I  lay  back  in  the  wide  shade  of  a  sycamore  tree  and 
watched  him  at  his  mowing.  His  movements,  after 
the  manner  of  gardeners,  were  slow  and  restful.  The 
little  pink-tipped  daisies  and  golden  buttercups  and 
sweet-scented  grass  seemed  almost  to  smile  as  they 
toppled  into  the  box  of  the  machine;  their  removal 
from  the  sward  had  been  as  gentle  as  a  caress. 

Our  garden  on  a  June  afternoon,  when  the  sun  is 
shining  after  a  soft  shower  of  rain,  is  the  most  perfect 
thing  in  the  world.  Its  scents  are  the  sweetest — the 
warm,  damp  earth,  the  freshly  cut  grass,  the  wet  roses 
and  honeysuckle,  and  the  whiffs  of  hay  and  meadow- 
sweet which  creep  through  the  little  gaps  in  the  hedge 
in  the  rear  from  the  fields  in  the  distance.  Its  colors 
are  the  loveliest.  Could  anything  be  more  perfect  than 
the  creamy-white  of  a  butterfly  poised  above  the  flam- 
ing scarlet  of  a  poppy?  or  a  purple  pansy,  with  its 

[10] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

eyes  full  of  tears,  turning  its  velvety  face  upward  to  the 
sunshine  ? 

I  lay  and  watched  the  delicate  fluttering  of  the 
creamy  butterfly.  I  wished  that  it  would  leave  the 
poppy,  who  was  a  flaunting,  boastful  sort  of  fellow, 
and  go  and  kiss  the  little  velvet  pansy  and  comfort  it. 
Nearer  and  nearer  it  fluttered,  now  pausing  to  inspect 
a  bed  of  geraniums,  anon  hanging  above  some  many- 
colored  petunias.  Now  it  was  getting  very  close  to  my 
wet-eyed  little  flower.  Ah !  my  wish  was  gratified ;  for 
one  second  it  laid  its  lips  on  the  lips  of  the  pansy,  and 
then  it  was  gone. 

Sammy  paused  in  his  mowing,  and,  fetching  a  bottle 
of  oil  and  a  feather  from  the  far  end  of  the  lawn,  began 
to  lubricate  the  machine. 

"  Did  you  speak,  Miss  Hazelt  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"No,  Sammy." 

"  Miss  Angela  and  the  mistress  are  out  ?  " 

"Yes,  Sammy;  that  is  why  you  gathered  the 
strawberries  and  /  lie  on  a  deck-chair  and  do 
nothing." 

A  smile  flickered  round  the  comers  of  his  mouth  for 
a  second,  and  then  vanished. 

"  Miss  Angela  isn't  often  out." 

"  No,  Sammy.  Miss  Angela  belongs  to  that  class  of 
person  who  always  stays  in  and  'sees  to  things.'" 

He  seated  himself  on  a  stump  of  a  tree  and  settled 
down  for  a  gossip. 

"  It  is  a  pity  she  doesn't  go  out  more." 
[US 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAN;D 

"A  great  pity,"  I  agreed. 

"The  fresh  air  would  do  her  good.  She  always 
looks  pale-like." 

"Yes;  but  she  is  extraordinarily  healthy." 

"  She  is  that.    Always  up  and  doin'. " 

"Always  up  and  doing,"  I  assented  with  a  sigh. 

"Is  it  a  mothers'  meetin'  she  be  gone  to  this  after- 
noon ?  " 

"No,  to  the  consecration  of  Neston  Church.  She 
and  mother  have  driven  over  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Gates.  At  the  moment  they  will  probably  be  singing 
'The  Church's  One  Foundation.'" 

"Fancy,  on  a  thirsty  afternoon  like  this!"  ejacu- 
lated Sammy,  as  he  drew  his  hand  across  his  mouth. 

"Are  you  thirsty,  Sammy?"  I  inquired. 

"Not  desperate,  Miss  Hazelt;  I've  know'd  myself 
worse." 

"Is  your  inward  eye,  so  to  speak,  directed  toward 
the  foundations  of  our  house — to  a  cool  corner,  to  a 
corner  where  a  barrel  reposes  ?  " 

"Well,  now  you  mention  it,  Miss  Hazelt,  p'r'aps  it 
is,  though  I  shouldn't  have  thought  of  it  unless  my 
attention  had  been  called  to  it." 

I  rose  laughing. 

"  Is  it  raspberry  vinegar  or  beer  you  are  taking  ?  " 

"  Beer  on  mowing  days,  Miss  Hazelt." 

I  walked  across  the  lawn  to  the  house.  On  my 
return  journey  through  the  hall  I  met  Rose,  our  house- 
maid. 

[12] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Sammy  has  had  his  beer  to-day,  Miss  Hazel," 
she  volunteered. 

"Indeed!" 

"Yes.  The  missis  never  gives  him  more  than  one 
glass." 

"Rose,"  I  remarked  gently,  "when  I  require  in- 
formation upon  any  subject  I  will  ask  for  it.  Kindly 
open  the  front  door  for  me." 

It  has  always  been  somewhat  difficult  to  keep  Rose 
in  her  right  place. 

With  care  I  carried  the  foaming  glass  across  the 
lawn.  Angela  would  have  said  it  was  lowering  myself 
to  carry  drink  to  a  gardener,  and  extremely  common. 
It  was  not  common;  it  was  unusual,  my  opportunities 
for  so  doing  being  rare,  owing,  as  I  remarked  before, 
to  Angela's  always  being  at  home  and  "seeing  to 
things." 

"You  should  be  very  grateful  to  me,  Sammy;  it  is 
hot  in  the  sun,"  I  observed  as  I  fell  back  in  the  chair. 

"I'm  more'n  grateful,  Miss  Hazelt,"  he  replied. 
And  he  looked  it;  and  I  was  interested  in  wondering 
how  much  longer  he  could  have  held  his  breath,  for 
the  glass  was  of  a  fair  size. 

He  returned  to  his  mowing  and  I  to  my  day-dream- 
ing. With  half-closed  eyes  I  gazed  at  the  patches  of 
pastel-blue  sky  peeping  through  the  delicate  tracery  of 
the  sycamore  leaves;  at  the  white  chiffon  clouds;  at 
the  clean,  bright,  rain-washed  green  of  the  oaks;  at 
the  hundreds  of  little  flies  and  midges  glancing  about  in 

[13] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

the  sunshine;  at  the  brown  plush  bees  as  they  lazily 
crawled  in  and  out  of  the  Canterbury  bells  and  fox- 
gloves. Again  I  reflected  what  a  good  thing  was  a 
garden  on  an  afternoon  in  June.  Angela  had  said, 
as  she  passed  me  in  her  neat  fawn  alpaca  dress,  that 
perhaps  I  had  forgotten  that  the  week's  mending  had 
not  yet  been  touched.  I  expressed  great  surprise.  It 
is  so  easy  to  be  surprised,  and  it  looked  as  though  I 
meant  to  rush  off  straightway  for  my  work-basket  and 
the  stockings. 

I  lay  and  wondered  what  Angela  would  do  if  I  were 
to  die.  There  would  be  such  a  blank  in  her  life.  For 
twenty-one  out  of  her  thirty  years  she  had  devoted 
herself  to  reminding  me  of  things  like  stockings  to  darn 
and  drawing-rooms  to  dust.  She  would  be  very  dull 
without  me.  And  Heatherland  was  not  a  lively  place; 
no,  Heatherland-on-the-Dee  might  be  the  prettiest 
village  in  the  Hundred  of  Wirral,  its  air  might  be  the 
purest,  its  view  of  the  blue  Welsh  hills  might  be  the 
loveliest,  but  it  was  by  no  means  lively.  Mother  and 
Angela  would  miss  me  very  much. 

Sammy  broke  in  upon  my  reflections. 

"Not  much  doin'  in  Heatherland  just  now,  Miss 
Hazelt." 

I  sat  up  quickly.  Many  years  of  experience  have 
taught  me  that  when  Sammy  in  a  casual  sort  of  way 
says  "Not  much  doin'  in  Heatherland,"  that  he  has 
news  to  impart  of  the  utmost  importance. 

As  quickly  I  lay  back  again.  Many  years  of  experi- 
[14] 


[ HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

ence  have  also  taught  me  that  to  extract  that  news  one 
must  proceed  carefully  and  diplomatically.  Sammy 
must  be  baited  and  played  with  exquisite  skill,  and  this 
was  a  pleasant,  lazy  afternoon  on  which  to  angle.  I 
smiled  to  myself  as  my  fish  went  down  on  his  somewhat 
rheumaticky  knees  and  began  to  weed  a  geranium  bed. 

"No,  Sammy,"  I  replied  carelessly,  "there  never  is 
much  doing  in  Heatherland;  it  is  a  place  singularly 
devoid  of  interest." 

"That  be  so,  and  yet  now  and  again  bits  of  news 
crop  up  like." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  closing  my  eyes,  "  but  we  are  not  in  a 
position  to  hear  it.  We  lead  such  quiet  lives;  and 
you,  of  course,  not  having  a  wife,  are  not  likely  to  hear 
anything  of  real  interest.  Now  Jonah  at  the  rectory, 
and  Jonah's  wife  who  cleans  the  church,  will  know 
everything " 

A  snort  interrupted  me.  It  came  from  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  geranium  bed. 

"  Did  you  speak,  Sammy  ?  " 

"  Jonah !    Jonah  Windybag ! " 

"  I  did  not  know  that  was  his  surname,"  I  remarked 
politely. 

Another  snort. 

"  Jonah  Claptrap !    Jonah  Gaspipes ! " 

"Dear  me,  what  extraordinary  names!"  I  ventured 
again. 

Sammy  bent  back  on  his  haunches  and  spat  on  his 
hands. 

[15] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

"And  the  wife  of  Jonah  Windybag,  Mrs.  Windy- 
i" 


"Well,  what  of  her?  She  seems  a  decent  sort  of 
woman,"  I  murmured. 

Sammy  indulged  in  derisive  laughter  for  some 
seconds. 

"  That  woman  will  go  to  hell ! "  he  said  at  length. 

This  announcement  was  of  so  startling  a  character 
that  in  the  stress  of  the  moment  I  omitted  to  mention 
to  Sammy  the  impropriety  of  his  language. 

"Yes,"  he  repeated,  "she  may  clean  churches  and 
polish  up  the  brass  on  the  font,  but  she'll  go  to  hell 
all  the  same." 

"What  a  dreadful  prospect  for  her!  Are  you  sure 
you  are  correct  in  your  supposition,  Sammy  ?  " 

"  Quite  sartin  sure.  No  woman  can  tell  lies  like  her 
and  keep  out  of  hell-fire." 

"  But  what  has  she  been  telling  lies  about  ?  "  I  asked 
with  curiosity. 

"Everythink.  It's  enough  to  make  a  hangel's  wing 
stop  curling  to  'ear  her.  Now,  for  instance,  Miss 
Hazelt,  she  actually  told  Widow  Price  as  'ow  I  wanted 
to  marry  her  before  she  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Jonah." 

"Well,  perhaps  you  did,"  I  suggested;  "only  it's  so 
long  ago  you  have  forgotten." 

When  I  met  Sammy's  eye  I  felt  sorry  I  had  spoken. 

"Then  she  'as  told  everybody  in  Heatherland,"  he 
went  on,  ignoring  my  interruption,  "that  Jonah  was 

[16] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

first  with  his  peas  and  potaters  this  year.  Jonah 
first!"  (He  was  fairly  spluttering  now.)  "Jonah 
before  me  with  peas  and  taters!  Why,  Jonah  can 
no  more  grow  peas  than  I  can  grow  coffee  berries. 
Just  as  ours  is  gettin'  so  old  that  they  are  about  ready 
to  turn  into  split  peas,  Jonah  'as  his  first  lot  ready, 
somewhere  about  Michaelmas." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  Jonah  requires  our  sympathy 
and  pity,"  I  said  softly. 

"  And  now,  to  beat  all,  she  is  goin'  round  and  tellin' 
the  whole  village  a  private  bit  o'  news  I  tells  to  Jonah 
in  strict  confidence  the  other  night.  A  most  himpor- 
tant  bit  o'  news." 

"  May  I  ask  where  you  imparted  this  piece  of  news  ?  " 

"Why,  at  the  'Black  Horse.'  I  just  stepped  in 
casual-like.  I  wanted  to  see  Jonah  about  some  gera- 
nium cuttin's,  and  he  stood  me  a  glass;  and,  not  to  be 
behindhand  in  friendliness,  I  up  and  told  'un  what  I'd 
heard.  There  was  just  the  two  of  us  in  a  corner;  not 
another  blessed  soul  could  'ear." 

"But  don't  you  think  a  public-house  an  unsuitable 
spot  to  select  for  the  imparting  of  information  of  a 
momentous  character?  Jonah  would — would  prob- 
ably become  expansive;  you  should  have  thought  of 
that.  Jonah's  wife,  on  his  return  home,  would  pos- 
sibly make  unnecessary  and  somewhat  pointed  remarks 
about  this  expansiveness,  and  to  soothe  her  Jonah 
would  whisper  into  her  ear  your  secret.  But  I  don't 
suppose  it  really  matters,  Sammy,"  I  continued. 
2  [17] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

"  Nothing  of  any  real  importance  happens  in  Heather- 
land.  I'll  be  bound  that  your  secret  is  of  no  more 
weighty  a  character  than  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Oates's 
tea  and  coffee  service,  which  has  done  duty  for  twenty 
years,  has  just  been  resilvered,  or  that  Mrs.  Frederick 
Moss  is  engaged  to  be  married,  making  the  fifteenth 
time  in  all." 

I  again  closed  my  eyes,  and  dismissed  the  subject 
as  though  finished  with.  I  knew  that  Sammy's  secret 
would  be  mine  within  the  next  five  minutes.  I  had 
only  to  lie  with  folded  hands  and  await  events.  You 
have  but  to  assume  that  Sammy's  news  is  absolutely 
worthless,  when  he  will  take  every  step  to  prove  it  to 
the  contrary. 

He  flung  it  at  my  head  suddenly. 

"Mr.  Inderwick  be  comin'  to  live  at  the  Old  Hall 
Farm." 

Now  I  am  bound  to  confess  that  I  was  startled;  so 
much  so  that  Dibbs,  my  wall-eyed  fox-terrier,  who 
was  curled  up  on  my  knee,  fell  off,  and  walked  away 
in  high  dudgeon. 

I  recovered  myself  quickly.  It  would  never  do  to 
let  Sammy  know  that  he  had  become,  so  to  speak, 
master  of  the  situation.  His  superiority  would  be  in- 
sufferable; besides,  I  wanted  to  know  more.  I  must 
walk  warily. 

"Indeed!"  I  began  in  my  coolest  manner,  but 
Sammy  interrupted  me.  There  was  triumph  in  his 
voice. 

1181 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"I  knew  you'd  be  surprised,  Miss  Hazelt.  Why, 
you've  gone  quite  flushed-like,  and  poor  Dibbs  gone 
away  with  'is  tail  between  'is  legs.  You  jumped  so  I 
thought  as  how  you  must  be  took  sudden  bad.  Never 
saw  any  one  so  startled-like,  and  all  about  a  bit  o'  news 
that  is  quite  valueless,  and  as  likely  as  not  may  not  'ave 
a  word  of  truth  in  it." 

He  picked  up  a  rake  and  made  a  movement  as  though 
to  go  away. 

"  Don't  go,  Sammy,"  I  said  quite  humbly.  "  Your 
news  is  almost — epoch-making.  I  admit  I — am — 
vastly  interested.  Sit  down  and  tell  me  all  about  it. 
Who  told  you,  and  when  is  he  coming  ?  " 

There  are  occasions  when  one  must  humble  one's  self 
even  to  one's  servitors. 

Sammy  resumed  his  seat  on  the  tree  stump.  There 
was  a  look  of  supreme  happiness  on  his  wrinkled, 
weathered  old  face,  and  he  rolled  his  sentences  round 
as  though  they  were  toothsome  delicacies. 

"  It  was  'is  'ousekeeper  who  told  me.  I  was  passin'  the 
farm,  and  she  was  shooin'  some  hens  to  bed,  and " 

"  Isn't  he  married,  then  ?  "  I  broke  in. 

Sammy  regarded  me  severely. 

"  I  can't  do  with  hinterruptions,  Miss  Hazelt,  when 
I'm  tellin'  a  story." 

I  expressed  my  sorrow,  and  he  continued 

"She  was  shooin'  some  hens  to  bed,  and  one,  like 
the  silly  things  they  is,  got  through  a  hole  in  the  'edge, 
and  comes  screechin'  down  the  lane,  with  the  'ouse- 

[19] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

keeper — whose  name  is  Mrs.  Egerton — after  it.  She 
nearly  ran  into  my  hopen  arms,  and  the  two  of  us  were 
nigh  on  ten  minutes  of  the  clock  persuin'  that  darned 
fowl  of  the  air  before  we  persuaded  it  to  go  'ome. 
Then  most  civil-like  she  asks  me  in  for  some  refresh- 
ment, which  I  thought  would  be  unfriendly  to  refuse, 
and  I  follers  'er  into  the  kitchen,  wonderin*  what  on 
earth  could  she  be  doin'  there,  as  the  'ouse,  as  you 
know,  has  stood  hempty  since  auld  Crabby  died.  And 
the s  whole  place  looked  as  though  a  Cheap  Jack  was 
goin'  to  be  held  in  it.  Pots  and  pans,  and  pianers  and 
pictures,  and  dolly-tubs  and  books,  all  muddled  up 
in  most  hawf ul  confusion ;  and  when  she  sees  me  lookin* 
at  it  all,  she  says,  'You  may  well  look.'  '  Is  it  a  jumble 
sale  ? '  I  asks.  An'  she  says,  '  No.  It's  Mr.  Inderwick 
who  is  comin'  to  live  'ere.  And  I'm  sortin'  out  some  of 
his  old  uncle's  rubbish.  He  must  have  been  a  rare  old 
miser.  Never  saw  such  a  collection  in  my  life.  Not  a 
good  pan  or  crock  in  the  place.  And  the  master  comin' 
in  a  fortnight's  time,  and  me  got  to  get  the  whole  place 
cleaned  down  and  the  new  furniture  in ;  it's  more  than 
one  mortal  pair  of  'ands  can  do.  And  when  I  writes  to 
'im  about  it,  he  just  writes  back  and  tells  me  not  to 
worry,  but  to  be  sure  and  put  'is  split  cane  fishing-rod 
in  a  safe  place  and  out  of  the  dust.  That's  all  he  cares 
for,  'is  fishin'-rods  and  books,  and  not  a  decent  coat  to 
his  back.'" 

"Did  she  say  that?"   I  asked  with  uncontrolled 
interest 

|20] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"She  did  so,  Miss  Hazelt.  Those  were  'er  very 
words, '  Not  a  decent  coat  to  his  back.' " 

"  Perhaps  he's  very  poor,"  I  suggested. 

But  Sammy  waved  this  on  one  side. 

"  Crabby  left  him  every  sixpence  of  'is  money." 

"No!  "I  said. 

"Yes,"  said  he;  "and  the  farm  and  all  the  land  and 
stock,  and  he's  goin'  to  start  farmin'. " 

"  But  he  wasn't  a  farmer,"  I  objected.  "  I  remember 
he  was  going  to  be  a — a  something  in  a  profession — a 
barrister  or  a  doctor." 

"Can't  help  that,"  said  Sammy  doggedly.  "He's 
goin'  to  start  farmin'  now.  His  own  'ousekeeper  says 
so,  and  she  ought  to  know." 

"Oh,  of  course!"  I  agreed.  "Go  on,  Sammy;  and 
— and  he's  not  married,  and  he  must  be  getting  quite 
old." 

"He  may  be  married,"  said  Sammy  cautiously; 
"there's  no  tellin'.  Mrs.  Egerton  didn't  mention  it. 
I'm  only  tellin'  you  what  she  tells  me.  I  likes  to  stick 
to  the  truth.  He  may  be  married  and — divorced. 
I  'ave  'eard  of  divorced  'usbands,  and  I  don't  wonder. 
Wimin  are  dry  hash,  Miss  Hazelt." 

"Yes,  yes,  Sammy,"  I  interrupted  hastily,  "so  you 
have  often  remarked;  but  don't  you  think  he  might 
— might  be  a  widower  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Sammy  with  extreme  firmness,  "I 
think  it's  most  himprobable.  Wives  never  dies  before 
their  'usbands,  never  wunst  in  their  lives." 

[21] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

I  lay  back  to  consider  this  startling  proposition, 
racking  my  brains  for  one  widower  among  my  some- 
what limited  acquaintances  to  refute  this  statement, 
when  I  caught  sight  of  Angela's  parasol  on  the  other 
side  of  the  white  gate. 

"Sammy,"  I  said,  "I  think  I  can  see  mother  and 
Miss  Angela.  I  may  be  wrong;  but  don't  you  think 
the  petunia  bed  requires  a  little  weeding  ?  Miss  Angela 
likes  the  front  of  the  house  to  be  kept  tidy." 


[22] 


CHAPTER  II 

On  How  I  Became  Acquainted  With  Mr.  Inderwick 

AND  so  Mr.  Inderwick  was  coming  to  live  in 
Heathland !   The  Mr.  Inderwick  I  knew  of  old, 
and  loved  so  well.     Yes,  loved,  and  I  inscribe 
the  word  with  calm  assurance,  for  I  was  but  seven  years 
of  age  in  the  days  when  I  set  him  up  on  a  pedestal  and 
worshipped  him  with  childlike  ardor — the  big,  grave, 
quiet  man  with  the  slow  speech  and  kindly  smile;  the 
man  who  lifted  me  over  the  stiles  and  rough  places  and 
called  me  "little  comrade." 

I  smile  now  when  I  think  of  the  manner  in  which  I 
scraped  acquaintance  with  him.  It  was  on  an  after- 
noon of  midsummer,  and  I  was  on  the  shore  wading 
barefooted  in  a  little  warm  pool  of  water  left  by  the 
tide,  searching  for  crabs  and  mussels  and  baby  eels, 
and  congratulating  myself  on  my  escape  from  the 
clutches  of  Miss  Timmins,  when  a  big  man  came  along 
the  sands.  He  was  absorbed  in  a  book  and  was  a 
stranger  to  me.  He  appeared  to  be  making  straight 
for  my  little  pool  and  to  have  every  intention  of  walk- 
ing over  me.  Nearer  and  nearer  he  came,  and  just  as 
he  was  upon  me  I  said  politely — 

[23] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

Please  look  where  you  are  going." 

He  gave  quite  a  jump,  and  then  began  to  laugh. 

"  Why,  where  have  you  sprung  from  ? "  he  asked, 
looking  down  at  me  curiously. 

"I  think  I  might  ask  you  that  question,"  I  replied 
with  dignity.  "  I  have  been  here  all  along." 

"Oh!  have  you?"  he  said,  becoming  quite  grave. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon." 

I  unbent  at  once,  For  any  one  to  beg  my  pardon 
was  a  new  experience  to  me.  So  far  I  had  spent 
my  life  in  being  made  to  beg  other  people's  par- 
dons. 

"  Oh,  don't  mention  it,"  I  said  graciously,  and  again 
he  smiled. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  he  next  inquired. 

"  Can't  you  see  ?  "  I  replied. 

He  laughed  again. 

"Building  a  fort?" 

"  No,"  I  answered  in  disgust.  "  I  made  forts  and 
castles  when  I  was  a  little  girl." 

He  apologized  once  more. 

"You  never  knew  any  one  of  my  age  make  sand 
castles,  did  you  ? "  I  asked. 

"No,  perhaps  not,  but  then — I  have  not  known 
many — ladies." 

This  was  a  singularly  sensible  man.  He  clearly 
grasped  the  fact  that  I  was  not  a  little  girl,  and  mother 
and  Angela  and  Miss  Timmins  had  always  been  so 
dull  on  the  subject. 

[24] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"  Well,  what  are  you  doing,  if  it  isn't  an  impertinent 
question  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  am  catching  crabs  and  eels  for  my — my  supper." 
His  lips  twitched. 

"May  I  see?" 

Carefully  I  raised  the  lid  of  my  tin  pail  and  held  it 
up  to  him  for  his  inspection. 

"There  are  three  crabs  and  one  eel.  Eels  are  most 
difficult  to  catch,  they  are  so  slippery,"  I  explained 
apologetically. 

"  How  do  you  catch  them  ?  " 

Still  more  I  unbent.  Angela  and  Miss  Timmins  had 
never  displayed  the  faintest  interest  in  my  eel  catching; 
they  had  entirely  confined  their  remarks  to  the  state  of 
my  legs  and  feet. 

"  Shall  I  show  you  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Do,"  he  replied. 

"  Well,  you  see  those  flat  stones  lying  half -buried  in 
the  sand  in  that  shallow  pool  of  water  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  answered. 

"Well,  will  you  lift  them  up  suddenly — eels  gener- 
ally hide  under  stones — and  then  as  they  dart  out  I 
will  grab  at  them  ?  " 

"What  with?  "said  he. 

"With  my  hands,  of  course,"  I  said  in  surprise. 

"  And  aren't  you  frightened  of  touching  them  ?  " 

"Frightened!  Of  course  not.  I  should  never  be 
frightened  of  teeny  little  eels!"  I  retorted  with  fine 
scorn. 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

"Oh!  they  are  only  small ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  I  said  regretfully.  "The  big  ones  stay  out 
in  the  deep  water." 

Gravely  he  set  to  work,  turning  over  great  big  stones 
I  had  been  unable  to  move.  I  thrilled  with  excitement. 
I  might  catch  a  conger! 

"  Isn't  it  exciting  ?  "  I  whispered. 

"  Rather! "  he  answered. 

From  beneath  the  ninth  stone  an  eel  darted  larger 
than  my  wildest  hopes  had  imagined.  With  a  yell 
I  was  after  it,  bare  hands  and  feet  and  even  knees 
were  pressed  into  service  as  it  wriggled  across  the 
sands  in  the  direction  of  a  much  deeper  pool  of  water. 
My  breath  came  in  gasps.  "Help  me!"  I  cried,  and 
the  next  moment  it  was  in  my  pail  of  water. 

"  Did  7  catch  it — our  hands  seemed  to  get  muddled 
up  ?  "  I  inquired  anxiously. 

"  Of  course  you  did." 

I  drew  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Do  you — do  you  think  it  could  be  a  conger  ?  " 

"  It  might  be,"  he  said  guardedly. 

"But  do  you  think  it  is?"  I  persisted,  my  heart 
beating. 

He  shook  his  head,  and  my  spirits  sank  to 
zero. 

"  Are  you  very  disappointed  ?  "  he  inquired  gently. 

I  nodded,  not  trusting  my  voice.  It  had  been  the 
dream  of  my  life  to  catch  a  conger  all  by  myself  and 
show  it  to  Sammy.  He  appeared  to  have  caught  so 

[26] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

many  congers  when  he  was  a  boy,  and  all  as  thick  as 
his  wrist. 

"Well,  we  may  get  one  yet,"  he  suggested  cheer- 
fully, "  and  that's  not  a  bad  size — the  one  you  have 
just  caught.  Do  you  ever  pick  cockles  ?  I'm  told  this 
is  a  famous  place  for  cockles." 

"No,"  I  said  regretfully.  "I'm  not  allowed.  The 
beds  are  too  far  out,  half-way  to  Wales,  and  there  are 
quicksands  and  deep  channels  of  water." 

"  And  you  are  only  allowed  to  go  eeling  ?  " 

"Well — not  exactly.  I  just  slipped  out  when  they 
weren't  looking  and  raced  all  the  way.  But  they  are 
less  angry  than  they  would  be  if  I  went  cockling.  I 
shall  probably  only  get  six  verses  of  'Bingen  on  the 
Rhine'  to  write  out,  and  half  a  column  of  spelling. 
You  see,  it's  head-washing  night." 

"  Oh,  is  it  ?  "  he  said  with  interest. 

"Yes,"  I  continued;  "and  I  haven't  dirtied  my 
frock  much,  have  I?" 

"No,"  he  said,  studying  me  carefully;  "but  you've 
got  a  big  dab  of  mud  on  your  sun-bonnet." 

"That  won't  matter,"  I  said  carelessly;  "it's  going 
to  the  wash  to-morrow." 

And  it  was  just  after  this  he  made  the  most 
glorious  suggestion — a  suggestion  which  left  me  pal- 
pitating. 

"Would  you  like  to  go  cockling?"  he  asked 
suddenly. 

The  blood  rushed  into  my  cheeks. 
127] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"  Would  you  ?  "  he  repeated. 

For  answer  I  skipped  on  my  bare  toes  on  the  hot 
sands  for  some  moments. 

"  Come  along,  then,"  he  said,  taking  my  hand  in  his, 
and  away  we  went. 

For  fourteen  years  that  afternoon  has  stood  out 
like  some  beautiful  picture  from  a  background  of 
dull  grays.  The  warm,  yellow  sands,  the  blue  of  the 
sky,  the  gold  of  the  sunshine  as  it  flooded  the  hills  in 
Wales,  the  little  brown  pools  full  of  wavy,  floating 
seaweed,  the  bright-colored  vetches  and  sea  pinks 
nodding  away  on  the  low,  grassy  cliffs  to  the  right  of 
us,  the  cry  of  the  peewits  as  they  circled  round  and 
round  above  our  heads,  the  white  seagulls  paddling 
about  in  the  glistening  wet  sands  in  the  distance,  the 
brown-sailed  fishing-boats  creeping  along  the  Channel 
away  to  the  open  sea,  and  the  big,  quiet  man  with  the 
kind,  humorous  eyes  and  warm  hand-clasp  and  deep- 
toned  laugh.  And  the  cockles!  Oh,  those  cockles! 
They  were  sandy  and  exceedingly  small,  but  they  were 
cockles.  No  longer  would  I  stoop  to  common  bivalves 
as  mussels,  or  pick  still  commoner  periwinkles.  I  had 
gathered  cockles,  and  life  from  that  moment  took  on 
a  different  aspect.  Angela  might  scold  me,  Miss  Tim- 
mins  might  punish  me,  mother  might  shake  her  head 
at  me;  but  through  it  all  I  should  be  supported  by  the 
knowledge  that  I  had  picked  cockles. 

He  took  me  home  afterward.  When  we  reached 
the  white  gate  of  Shady  Oak  he  made  as  though  to 

[28] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

leave  me,  but  there  must  have  been  something  in  my 
face  which  caused  him  to  change  his  mind. 

"Why,  I  was  forgetting,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "I 
must  go  in  and  explain  matters.  Poor  little  comrade, 
you  got  quite  white." 

Mother  was  very  gracious,  and  I  got  off  with  an  extra 
soaping  and  scrubbing  in  my  bath  that  night,  accom- 
panied by  a  lecture  from  Miss  Timmins,  who  sat  in  a 
corner  of  the  bath  room  and  mentioned  all  the  various 
places  I  should  go  to  when  I  died,  none  of  which  greatly 
impressed  me.  For  had  I  not  picked  cockles  ? 

Our  friendship  lasted  for  one  brief  fortnight,  and 
then  he  went  away,  and  my  heart  was  desolated.  I 
saw  him  nearly  every  day  during  his  stay  in  Heather- 
land,  and  when  I  didn't  see  him  I  would  creep  off  to 
the  Old  Hall  Farm,  which  was  quite  close  to  our 
house,  and  peep  through  the  big  iron  gates,  my  heart 
palpitating  for  fear  old  Crabby,  the  uncle  of  my  hero, 
should  pounce  out  on  me;  and  there  I  would  peep  and 
crane  and  stand  on  tiptoe,  hoping  for  a  glimpse  or  a 
word  from  my  big,  kind  friend.  And  should  I  fail  to 
see  him,  I  felt  as  though  the  sun  had  suddenly  gone  out. 

The  morning  he  left  I  presented  him  with  a  gorgeous 
bookmarker,  upon  which  was  worked  in  red  cotton 
cross-stitch 

"The  Rose  is  red, 

The  Violet's  blue; 
Sugar  is  sweet, 
And  so  are  you." 
[29] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

He  expressed  great  delight  with  it,  and  said  he  should 
always  keep  it  in  his  Shakespeare.  I  wonder  if  he  did  ? 
But  no;  it  is  not  likely.  Men  don't  remember  things. 
He  was  an  event  in  my  life — a  big,  important  event. 
In  his  I  was  an  incident,  as  slight  and  small  and  fleeting 
as  thistledown  in  a  wind.  The  bookmarker  will  have 
been  lost,  and  I  shall  have  been  forgotten. 


fSO] 


CHAPTER  III 

Sammy  and  Rose  Gossip  of  an  Unimportant  Matter 

A  STRANGER  to  Heatherland,  after  a  brief  visit 
to  our  pretty  village,  once  remarked  that  its 
inhabitantsnever  appeared  to  work — only  to  gos- 
sip. This  was  an  untrue  statement.  According  to  her 
own  showing,  Angela  works  harder  than  any  one  in  the 
world.  I  also  work  very  hard,  though  mother  and 
Angela  won't  believe  it,  and  Sammy,  Rose,  and  Eliza- 
beth work  every  now  and  then.  I  admit  they  have 
gossiped  lately  more  than  they  have  worked,  and  I 
have  done  my  best  to  check  them  in  this  grievous 
habit.  It  was  only  this  morning  I  remonstrated  with 
Sammy  on  the  subject;  but  he  did  not  take  much  no- 
tice of  what  I  said — in  fact,  he  might  not  have  heard 
me. 

"Mr.  Inderwick  is  to  arrive  at  the  Old  Hall  Farm 
to-day,  Miss  Hazelt,"  he  volunteered. 

"You  said  the  same  thing  two  months  ago,"  I  re- 
plied, as  I  reached  up  for  a  large  Victoria  plum  with 
a  fascinating  dry  crack  across  its  middle.  (Dry  cracks 
in  plums  always  betoken  extreme  sweetness.) 

"  But  this  time  it 's  gospel  truth,  Miss  Hazelt.  I  'as 
[31] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

it  from  Mrs.  Egerton  herself.  I  met  'er  'urryin' 
through  the  village  this  mornin',  and  she  says,  'The 
lamps  is  all  trimmed  and  lit  and  burnin'  ready  for  the 
master's  comin',  and  I  cannot  tarry  wid  you,  Samuel 
Broster,'  that  is  what  she  says." 

"But  isn't  that  a  little  extravagant  at  this  time  of 
day?"  I  suggested. 

Sammy  eyed  me  with  some  pity. 

"A  figger  of  speech.  You  mustn't  take  things  said 
by  wimmen  too  literal,  Miss  Hazelt." 

"I  see,"  I  said  gravely,  as  I  helped  myself  to  an- 
other plum  and  sat  down  on  a  low  branch  of  an  apple- 
tree,  motioning  Sammy  to  the  wheelbarrow.  "  And  so 
he's  really  coming  to-day  ?  " 

"  That's  so,  Miss  Hazelt.  You'll  not  be  disappointed 
this  time." 

I  looked  at  him  coldly. 

"I  was  unaware  of  any  disappointment  in  the  past, 
Sammy.  Mr.  Inderwick  is  nothing  to  me." 

"  You  was  great  friends  wunst." 

"That  was  many  years  ago." 

"And  you  give  him  a  bootiful  bookmarker  wid 
poetry  on  it." 

"I  shouldn't  give  him  bookmarkers  now." 

"Wouldn't  you?" 

"Certainly  not." 

Sammy  looked  at  me  suddenly. 

"  Of  course,  you've  grown  up  now,  Miss  Hazelt  ?  " 

There  was  a  note  of  interrogation  in  his  voice. 
[32] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"  I've  been  grown  up  for  years,  Sammy.  I  feel  like 
that  old  hen  mentioned  in  cookery  books  as  'Take  an 
old  fowl,  tie  it  in  muslin,  and  boil  slowly  for  six 
hours.' " 

Sammy  looked  at  me  narrowly. 

"You  don't  look  quite  as  old  as  that,  Miss 
Hazelt." 

I  laughed. 

"You  are  very  encouraging,  Sammy." 

"  Now  Miss  Angela,  she  do ;  she's  always  looked  the 
same  ever  since  I  first  know'd  'er — so  neat-like  and 
old-fashioned;  an'  she  couldn't  'ave  been  much  more'n 
ten  when  the  master  and  missis  first  comes  to  Heather- 
land." 

"She  was  nine,"  I  corrected,  "and  I  was  born  the 
year  after." 

"  Eh,  and  the  master  did  make  a  fuss  of  you !  You 
couldn't  do  wrong." 

"  I  have  made  up  for  it  since  he  died,  according  to 
Miss  Angela,"  I  sighed. 

"  Miss  Angela's  a  bit  strict-like,"  remarked  Sammy, 
"and  sayin'  that  cafls  to  mind  she  wants  the  plums 
gathered  to-day  for  presarvin'." 

He  got  up  stiffly  and  fetched  a  basket  from  the 
apple-room. 

"  I'll  help  you,"  I  said.     "  I  ought  to  be  dusting  the 
drawing-room,  but  perhaps  they  won't  notice.     Any 
more  news?"   I  inquired  indifferently  after  we  had 
been  picking  for  some  time. 
3  [33] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

Sammy  reflected. 

"  Nothin'  of  much  interest,  Miss  Hazelt — only  about 
Mr.  Inderwick,  and  you'll  be  tired  of  'im." 

"Of  course,  if  you  have  nothing  of  any  greater  im- 
portance to  impart  I  must  put  up  with  him,"  I  said 
graciously.  "  What's  he  been  doing  now  ?  " 

"Fishin'." 

"  That's  not  much." 

"You  wouldn't  say  so  if  you  could  jus'  hear  Mrs. 
Egerton's  views  on  the  subjec'." 

'*  What  does  she  say  ?  " 

"She  says  as  how  he  doesn't  do  much  'imself  when 
'e  gets  the  fever  badly,  as  'e  just  sits  on  a  bank  or  in  a 
boat  as  though  he  'ad  taken  root  there;  it's  she  who 
does  the  work." 

"What  does  she  do?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  she  keeps  'is  meals  hot  for  one  thing;  she 
says  'is  dinner  will  stand  for  four  hours,  and  then 
'e'll  come  in  in  quite  a  dazed  sort  of  way  and  ask  if 
it's  ready,  and  never  listens  to  what  she  says  about  it, 
and  will  hinterrupt  'er  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  and 
say,  'Well,  never  mind,  Mrs.  Egerton,  if  the  dinner's 
not  ready;  I  don't  mind  waiting  a  bit.  You're  pretty 
punctual  as  a  rule;  I'll  just  be  makin'  a  gut  cast.' 
And  then  'e  empties  everythink  out  of  a  case  on  to  the 
floor — 'ooks  and  lines  and  gut — which  yer  catches  your 
feet  in,  till  your  life's  in  constant  jeopardy — those  was 
Mrs.  Egerton's  very  words.  She  says  as  'ow  glad 
she  is  'e  has  had  this  last  bout  away  from  'ome  up  in 

[34] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

Norway,  and  that  other  folks  'as  'ad  the  takin'  care  of 
him,  as  she  was  fairly  done  the  last  time." 

"Mrs.  Egerton  appears  to  have  a  somewhat  wear- 
ing time  one  way  or  another,"  I  observed. 

"  She  do  that,  but  she  says  she  puts  up  with  'im  be- 
cause Vs  a  kind  master  in  spite  of  his  contrairy  ways; 
and  she  'as  known  him  since  'e  was  a  baby  in  long 
clothes,  and  so  she  stands  by  'im." 

"  It's  very  kind  of  her." 

"Yes,  she's  a  kindly  sort  of  body,"  agreed  Sammy, 
"and  a  rare  worker." 

"  What  time  is  he  expected  to-day  ?  " 

Sammy  considered  for  some  moments.  His  memory 
is  defective,  but  his  imagination  is  great. 

"Perhaps  Jonah  would  know,"  I  said  softly. 

Sammy  hit  at  a  wasp  somewhat  viciously. 

"  Between  four  and  five  this  afternoon.  Can't  say 
exactly  to  a  minute;  trains  is  unpunctuai,  and  then 
'e's  to  drive  from  Neston,  and  you  never  knows  'ow  a 
horse  will  travel." 

" No,  of  course  you  don't,"  I  assented;  " and  I  think 
I  must  go  now,  as  I  shall  be  wanted  in  the  house.  Miss 
Angela  is  never  really  happy  when  I  am  out  of  her 
sight.  Good-by,  Sammy." 

I  sauntered  down  the  garden  slowly  with  Dibbs  lead- 
ing the  way.  Dibbs  always  likes  to  be  in  front. 

At  the  back  door  I  met  mother.  She  was  studying 
the  butcher's  book. 

"Have  you  heard  the  news?"  she  asked,  pausing 
[35] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

with  a  finger  on  a  column  of  figures.  "  Mr.  Inderwick 
is  to  arrive  to-day." 

"  I  have  heard  that  before,"  I  answered. 

"  But  I  think  it  must  be  true  this  time,  as  the  butcher 
told  Elizabeth  that  Mrs.  Egerton  had  ordered  five 
sheep's  kidneys  and  a  sirloin  of  beef." 

"They  might  be  for  herself,"  I  suggested. 

"Most  improbable,"  said  mother.  "It  is  hardly 
likely  a  housekeeper  would  dare  to  order  sheep's  kid- 
neys for  herself  at  fourpence  a  piece,  and  the  best  cut 
of  the  sirloin  when  beef  is  up." 

"  But  she  must  eat  something,"  I  argued. 

Mother  shook  her  head. 

"Not  kidneys  and  sirloin,"  she  said  decidedly; 
"liver  and  topside  of  the  round,  if  she  knows  her 
place." 

I  passed  on  upstairs  to  my  bedroom.  I  thought  I 
would  take  a  peep  at  the  Old  Hall  Farm.  Rose  was 
there  engaged  in  cleaning  the  four  brass  knobs  on  the 
bedstead. 

"Do  you  spend  your  entire  existence,  Rose,  in  clean- 
ing the  knobs  on  my  bedstead  ?  "  I  inquired. 

She  looked  at  me  in  surprise. 

"Only  once  a  week,  Miss  Hazel." 

"It  seems  much  oftener  to  me,"  I  said,  "but  I  may 
be  wrong." 

"No;  only  once  a  week,"  she  repeated.  "Am  I  in 
your  way,  Miss  Hazel  ?  " 

"No,  thanks,  Rose.  I  was  merely  reflecting  that  I 
[36] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

never  seem  to  enter  my  room  without  finding  you  en- 
gaged in  placing  everything  off  the  dressing-table  on 
to  the  bed  preparatory  to  its  cleaning,  or  polishing  the 
knobs." 

"Once  a  week  each,  Miss  Hazel,"  said  Rose  in  a 
voice  that  would  brook  no  argument. 

I  strolled  to  the  window.  By  leaning  out  I  knew 
that  through  a  break  in  the  dense  foliage  of  the  oak 
trees  which  encircle  our  front  garden  I  should  be  able 
to  get  a  good  view  of  the  Old  Hall  Farm;  but,  of 
course,  Rose  was  there,  and  she  was  only  on  the  second 
knob.  I  glanced  at  her  furtively  and  found  she  was 
staring  at  me  hard.  Dropping  on  to  a  chair,  I  took  up 
a  piece  of  work. 

"  Never  knew  you  to  sew  in  a  morning  before,  Miss 
Hazel,"  she  observed  cheerfully. 

I  made  no  reply. 

"Mr.  Inderwick's  comin'  to  the  Old  Hall  Farm  to- 
day," she  volunteered  next. 

I  began  to  feel  a  deep  pity  for  Mr.  Inderwick.  Had 
he  realized  what  living  in  a  small  country  village  in  a 
remote  corner  of  Cheshire  would  mean  ?  Was  he 
prepared  for  the  moral  and  mental  dissection  which 
he  would  be  bound  to  undergo?  Poor,  wretched 
man! 

"Indeed!"  I  replied  coldly. 

"  Yes ;  his  luggage  came  yesterday.  Only  one  port- 
manteau, no  trunk,  and  six  wooden  cases.  Father 
helped  to  carry  'em  in,  and  he  says  they  were  that 

[37] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

'eavy  he  shouldn't  be  surprised  as  they  turned  out  to 
be  books." 

I  began  to  be  interested,  but  Angela  says  it  is  undig- 
nified to  gossip  with  a  housemaid.  My  talks  with 
Sammy  are  on  a  different  basis — he  is  an  old  and 
valued  retainer. 

"A  servant's  engaged,  too;  fancy,  a  servant  as  well 
as  a  'ousekeeper  for  one  gentleman!  And  she's  got  a 
fringe." 

There  was  a  note  of  envy  and  soreness  in  Rose's 
voice  which  touched  me.  Angela  will  not  permit 
fringes  to  the  servants;  she  says  they  are  common. 
Her  own  fringeless  forehead  reminds  one  of  a  round, 
polished  dome. 

"Never  mind,  Rose,"  I  said  gently.  "Your  hair  is 
very  pretty  and  wavy.  I  wish  mine  were  as  nice." 

Rose  peeped  at  herself  in  the  looking-glass  and  then 
blushed. 

"It  must  be  nice  living  with  a  single  gentleman; 
don't  you  think  so,  Miss  Hazel  ?  " 

"  I've  never  tried  it,"  I  replied  guardedly. 

"  I  don't  suppose  they'd  go  holding  all  the  tumblers 
to  the  light  after  you  had  washed  them  to  see  as  they 
was  clean,  or  go  scrattlin'  under  the  mats  lookin'  for 
crumbs,  or  drawing  their  fingers  along  the  top  of  the 
balisters  searchin'  for  dust." 

There  was  real  grievance  in  Rose's  tones  now,  and 
she  attacked  the  third  knob  with  alarming  energy. 

A  sound  of  wheels  came  up  from  the  cobble-paved 
[38] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

village;  it  was  too  self-contained  and  superior  for  a 
cart;  it  was  much  too  early  for  Mrs.  Moss  or  Mrs. 
Hawthorn  to  be  taking  their  daily  drive.  I  glanced  at 
Rose;  her  back  was  to  me,  and  she  was  still  taken  up 
with  her  grievance.  With  stealth  I  crept  to  the  open 
window  and  leaned  out.  A  smart  dog-cart  flashed  by; 
it  contained  two  men,  but  I  could  not  see  their  faces. 
Still  further  I  leaned  out,  craning  my  neck. 

"That  must  be  Mr.  Inderwick." 

The  voice  came  from  the  small  of  my  back,  and  I 
started  so  violently  that  I  nearly  lost  my  balance. 

"Rose,"  I  said  severely,  "I  wish  you  would  get  on 
with  your  work.  It  is  simply  disgraceful  the  way  you 
waste  your  time.  You  have  been  over  half  an  hour  in 
cleaning  three  small  bed-knobs.  It  is  nothing  to  you 
whether  it  is  Mr.  Inderwick  or  not  Mr.  Inderwick. 
Try  and  check  this  spirit  of  curiosity."  And  I  swept 
from  the  room,  leaving  Rose  with  a  most  astonished 
countenance. 


[39] 


CHAPTER  IV 

/  Receive  a  Snub  from  Mr.  Inderwick  Which 
Renders  Me  Angry 

NO  one  likes  to  be  snubbed.  Least  of  all  a  woman 
by  a  man,  especially  when  the  snub  is  unwar- 
ranted. Mr.  Inderwick  has  snubbed  me,  and  I 
can  never  forgive  him.  I  smiled  at  him  last  Sunday  in 
church.  The  smile  was  one  of  pure  friendship,  of 
good  fellowship.  It  came  from  me  suddenly,  before  I 
could  stop  it.  It  was  not  premeditated;  it  came  like 
a  flash  when  I  caught  sight  of  him.  And  in  return — 
my  cheeks  still  flame  when  I  think  of  it — he  just  stared 
at  me,  a  surprised,  prolonged,  superior,  raised-eye- 
brows sort  of  stare;  a  stare  that  first  seemed  to  turn 
me  to  stone,  and  then  sent  me  down  on  my  knees  for 
the  Litany  as  though  I  had  been  shot;  a  stare  that  has 
burnt  into  my  brain,  into  my  being.  Shall  I  ever  for- 
get it  ?  Shall  I  ever  forget  that  the  entire  congregation 
of  Heatherland  witnessed  my  discomfiture  (for  it 
seemed  to  me  that  the  eye  of  every  woman  of  the  vil- 
lage was  fixed  upon  me  unflinchingly)  ?  and  shall  I 
always  be  shut  up  inside  our  own  garden  gate  for  the 
remainder  of  my  natural  life?  I  dare  not  go  out;  I 

[40] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

simply  dare  not  run  the  risk  of  again  encountering  that 
petrified  gaze. 

Now,  /  should  have  behaved  so  differently  under 
the  circumstances  had  I  been  a  man.  Were  nice  girls 
to  smile  at  me  in  church,  I  should  just  smile  back  at 
them  whether  they  were  known  to  me  or  not,  and 
enjoy  myself  immensely.  I  should  certainly  not  assume 
that  exclusive,  monarch-of-all-I-survey  air;  I  should 
accept  with  gratitude  any  kindliness  shown  to  me. 

Miss  Timmins  used  to  say  men  were  a  snare  and  a 
delusion.  She  invariably  giggled  when  she  said  this, 
and  scratched  her  left  shoulder-blade  with  her  right 
hand.  Angela  said  men  were  untidy,  unpunctual,  and 
unreliable.  And  I,  from  a  spirit  of  opposition,  said 
they  were  much  nicer  than  women  and  I  loved  them. 
None  of  our  opinions  were  of  the  slightest  value  to  the 
world,  for  men,  with  the  exception  of  dear  father,  were 
a  genus  unknown  to  us.  Country  villages  do  not  pro- 
duce men;  they  only  run  to  women  and  cows  and 
crops.  Of  course  there  are  a  few  fathers  with  nicely 
combed  beards  who  give  half  a  crown  to  the  collection 
on  Sunday,  and  drive  in  nicely  appointed  carriages  to 
the  city  each  day  to  do  something  in  cotton  or  shipping, 
but  they  don't  count.  Fathers  naturally  don't  count 
as  ordinary  men,  neither  does  Frederick  Moss,  for  he 
is  half  a  poet  and  plays  the  organ  in  church.  And  now 
I  withdraw  all  that  I  said  about  men  in  the  past — I 
don't  think  they  are  nicer  than  women,  and  I  hate 
them. 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

I  might  have  known  everything  would  go  wrong  last 
Sunday.  Things  always  do  on  a  Sunday.  Perhaps  it 
is  through  wearing  your  best  frock,  or  having  kidney 
with  your  bacon  for  breakfast.  The  Lord  may  think 
you  are  self-indulgent,  and  send  trouble  to  balance 
things  up. 

The  sun  and  clematis  together  woke  me — that  was 
the  only  nice  bit  in  the  day.  The  sun  was  so  cheerful 
and  expansive,  and  the  clematis  tapped  its  velvety  cups 
against  the  window-pane,  and  they  peeped  in  and  said — 

"Get  up;  it's  grand  out  here." 

They  only  whispered  it,  but  I  heard  them. 

"  Not  just  yet,"  I  murmured  sleepily.  "  Rose  hasn't 
been  to  call  me.  I  never  get  up  till  I'm  called." 

"  Lazybones ! "  they  laughed.  "  Do  you  know  this  is 
just  the  kind  of  morning  you  love  best  in  the  world — 
sunny,  hazy,  dewy  September,  and  the  drenched  dahlias 
and  grass  and  bushes  are  drying  their  garments  in  the 
sunshine." 

I  opened  one  eye,  but  the  lid  of  the  other  was  too 
heavy  to  lift.  Then  they  began  again — 

"I  should  get  up  if  I  were  you.  Away  on  Oldfield 
Common  is  a  most  exquisite  carpet  of  purple  and  gold 
— it  is  only  heather  and  gorse,  but  the  scent  is  some- 
thing divine.  All  the  bees  and  bumble-bees  of  Heath- 
erland  are  assembled  there,  and  are  humming  and 
buzzing  as  though  they  had  struck  a  gold  mine." 

"I  have  smelt  heather  and  gorse  and  seen  bees  be- 
fore," I  said  firmly. 

[42] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

Then  they  became  artful. 

"Mr.  Inderwick  will  probably  be  in  church  to-day; 
he  used  to  go  to  church  in  the  old  days,  and " 

In  a  twinkling  my  bare  feet  were  standing  on  a 
warm  patch  of  sunlight  which  hovered  about  the  faded 
pink  rhododendrons  on  the  carpet. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  I  remarked  casually.  "I  am 
only  getting  up  because  it  is  time.  I  am  sure  Mr. 
Inderwick  won't  be  at  church.  Men  don't  go  much  to 
church  unless  they  are  married,  mother  says,  and  then 
they  go  for  peace  and  quietness,  as  their  wives  worry 
them  so." 

I  sat  down  by  the  window  and  fell  to  thinking — 
what  should  I  wear.  I  would  like  to  look  nice  this 
particular  Sunday,  because — why,  because  it  is  a  duty 
a  girl  owes  to  herself  and  her  friends  to  look  her  best. 
Dowdy  women  are  an  eyesore. 

I  walked  across  to  the  wardrobe.  It  was  quite  un- 
necessary. I  knew  every  garment  I  possessed  off  by 
heart.  There  was  the  old  brown  merino  in  which  I 
do  spring  cleaning;  Heatherland  at  one  time  knew  it 
well,  though  a  lapse  of  years  might  have  caused  it  to 
be  forgotten;  that  wouldn't  do.  There  was  a  blue 
print  frock  which  had  shrunk  in  washing;  a  tuck  had 
been  let  down,  and  people  who  might  have  forgotten 
the  original  color  of  the  print  could  now  refresh  their 
memories  by  gazing  at  the  place  where  the  tuck  had 
been.  Angela  says  it  doesn't  matter,  as  it  looks  like  a 
trimming.  Angela  has  more  faith  in  the  imaginative- 

[43] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

ness  of  people  than  I.  A  pink  cashmere  I  condemned 
at  once — mother  and  Angela  always  insist  on  my  buy- 
ing the  "good  old  materials,"  as  they  call  them,  like 
merino  and  cashmere — I  look  like  an  orphaned  shrimp 
in  it,  about  to  be  picked,  and  it  has  a  gooseberry  stain 
on  the  sleeve.  It  is  supposed  to  be  my  best  summer 
frock,  but  if  I  can  wriggle  out  of  wearing  it,  and  get  into 
an  old,  black  grenadine  I  have  had  for  years,  I  do. 
There  was  only  a  white  muslin  left,  the  prettiest  of  the 
lot,  frilly  and  fluffy,  with  lots  of  tucks ;  it  caused  me  to 
be  bankrupt  for  months,  and  I  was  obliged  to  sell  some 
old  clothes  to  Mrs.  Flutterby,  the  washerwoman,  to  pay 
for  the  making.  I  recollect  Angela  came  in  while  I 
was  transacting  this  little  business,  and  I  had  to  whisk 
the  clothes  into  an  empty  dolly-tub  and  then  stand  in 
front  of  it.  I  thought  she  never  would  leave  the  wash- 
house,  and  she  eyed  me  in  the  same  way  as  she  does 
tramps  when  they  are  out  of  work. 

I  fingered  the  muslin  for  some  little  time;  I  patted 
the  frills  and  tucks,  and  stroked  the  soft  fichu.  How 
pretty  it  was!  Would  Angela  say  it  was  out  of  place 
in  church,  and  ridiculous  to  wear  in  September  ?  And 
if  she  did,  why  should  I  mind  ?  It  was  my  body  and 
not  hers  I  proposed  to  clothe  in  it.  It  was  a  pity  never 
to  wear  it,  and  it  would  soon  be  old-fashioned. 

A  knock  came  at  the  door. 

"Are  you  up,  Hazel?" 

My  sister*  never  omits  to  ask  this  question  each 
morning. 

144] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Yes,"  I  replied. 

"You  are  very  quiet." 

"Would  you  have  me  make  a  noise  like  a  battering- 
ram  when  I  am  dressing?" 

"But  you  have  not  had  your  bath.  I  have  finished 
mine." 

This  is  another  little  peculiarity  of  Angela's.  She 
always  tells  you  when  she  has  had  a  bath,  just  as  though 
she  were  the  only  clean  person  in  the  world.  But  then 
I  think  she  is  no  different  from  any  other  woman  in  this 
respect.  They  all  tell  you  when  they  have  had  cold 
baths,  perhaps  not  directly,  but  it  comes  in  somehow: 
"When  I  was  having  my  cold  tub  this  morning  the 
thought  struck  me,"  etc. ;  or,  "  Wasn't  the  water  cold 
this  morning?" 

I  opened  the  door  suddenly  and  nearly  upset  Angela. 

"Why,  you  are  still  in  your  nightgown !"  she  ejacu- 
lated. 

"  Would  you  wish  me  to  walk  about  the  house  with- 
out one?  "  I  said  politely  as  I  passed  into  the  bath- 
room. 

"You  will  be  late  as  usual,"  she  shouted  above  the 
noise  of  the  running  water. 

She  may  have  said  other  things  as  well,  but  I  was 
splashing  vigorously,  and  her  voice  was  drowned.  I 
admit  it  was  a  little  impolite  of  me,  but  then  it  does  get 
monotonous  hearing  the  same  old  thing  morning  after 
morning,  that  I  shall  be  late;  Angela  varies  her  con- 
versation so  little.  Besides,  I  wanted  to  finish  thinking 

[45] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

out  my  costume  for  the  day.  Should  it  be  the  white, 
and  risk  the  dropping  out  of  my  sister's  eyes,  or  should 
it  be  the  shrimpy  pink,  as  the  grenadine  had  a  hole  hi 
the  elbow?  Slowly  and  thoughtfully  I  got  into  my 
clothes  and  did  my  hair.  It  would  be  delicious  to 
walk  down  the  aisle  with  a  white  train  sweeping  after 
me.  How  Rosabel  Hawthorn  would  stare!  She  al- 
ways wears  a  train  on  Sunday,  but  I  have  never  been 
allowed.  Mother  and  Angela  say  a  true  lady  dresses 
in  a  quiet  and  modest  way  on  the  Sabbath.  I  cannot 
see  why  a  train  should  be  considered  immodest;  I 
should  have  thought  it  was  the  other  way  about.  I 
kept  glancing  at  the  interior  of  the  wardrobe,  and  then 
out  at  the  sunshine.  It  was  certainly  warm  enough, 
and  so  bright.  There  might  be  just  one  wee  cloud  on 
the  horizon,  but  it  was  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand, 
and  was  probably  caused  by  smoke  from  a  steamer 
on  its  way  to  the  Irish  Sea.  I  would  wear  the  white. 
Firmly  I  advanced  to  the  wardrobe,  deliberately  I 
slipped  the  skirt  over  my  head,  carefully  I  fastened  the 
fichu  of  the  bodice  with  a  pearl  brooch,  and  with 
pleasure  I  gazed  at  my  slim,  white  reflection  in  the 
mirror.  It  was  nice  to  feel  well  dressed.  I  felt  brave 
enough  to  have  given  notice  to  a  servant  in  that  skirt. 
The  cut  of  a  garment  will  send  up  your  self-confi- 
dence in  a  wonderful  way. 

"Hazel,"  Angela's  voice  came  down  the  passage, 
"mother  says  you  are  not  to  wear  your  old,  black 
grenadine  to-day,  as  the  sleeve  wants  mending." 

[46] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

In  a  panic,  I  was  at  the  door  and  quickly  turned 
the  key  in  the  lock. 

"Very  well,"  I  called. 

"What  are  you  locking  your  door  for?  Are  you 
going  to  read  your  Scripture  portion  ?  " 

My  sister's  voice  was  full  of  curiosity  as  she  turned 
the  handle. 

"Angela,"  I  said,  "go  away,  or  I  shall  say  something 
rude." 

I  listened  to  her  retreating  footsteps,  and  then  began 
to  unfasten  my  frock.  I  simply  dare  not  wear  it. 
Half-way  through  the  hooks  I  stopped.  My  eyes  had 
caught  sight  of  a  text  over  the  washstand — "  Be  strong 
and  of  a  good  courage,"  but  that  surely  referred  to 
being  good,  and  not  to  the  wearing  of  white  gowns. 
I  went  on  with  the  unfastening  of  the  hooks,  and 
reached  out  the  shrimpy  pink.  I  would  not  glance  at 
myself  in  the  mirror,  I  knew  so  exactly  how  I  looked 
in  that  pink — a  Sunday-school  teacher  out  for  a  picnic. 
I  wandered  to  the  open  window,  and  my  gaze  fell  upon 
the  Old  Hall  Farm  and  the  two  fir-trees  standing  like 
sentinels  in  front  of  it.  In  a  flash  I  saw  myself  in 
church,  and  Mr.  Inderwick  staring  at  my  wrinkly  pink 
back  and  skimpy  skirt.  It  could  not  be  endured. 
Five  minutes  later  I  was  running  down  the  stairs, 
holding  up  my  white  train,  as  the  gong  went  for  the 
third  time. 

Angela  had  got  as  far  as  her  second  helping  of  bacon 
and  bread  and  drip.  She  was  in  the  act  of  raising  a 

[47] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

comfortable-sized  piece  on  the  end  of  her  fork  to  her 
mouth  as  I  entered  the  room.  Her  fork  stopped  half- 
way, and  her  mouth  remained  open  as  I  kissed  mother, 
patted  Dibbs,  and  took  my  place. 

"  Do  I  look  as  nice  as  all  that  ?  "  I  inquired  amiably 
as  I  helped  myself  to  a  piece  of  toast.  "  Should  you 
mind  giving  me  some  bacon  and  kidney  ?  "  I  next  sug- 
gested mildly,  as  my  sister's  eyes  remained  rooted  on 
my  person. 

Mechanically  her  jaws  closed  on  the  bread  and  drip 
as  she  removed  the  dish  cover,  but  her  eyes  never  left 
me  for  a  single  moment. 

"What  have  you  got  your  garden  party  frock  on 
for?"  she  breathed  at  length. 

"Angela,"  I  said,  "you  should  never  end  a  sentence 
with  a  preposition;  it  is  a  bad  style." 

Sunday  is  the  only  day  on  which  I  am  courageous 
in  my  dealings  with  Angela.  It  would  be  so  wrong  of 
her  to  lose  her  temper  when  she  goes  to  church  twice 
and  Sunday-school  once. 

"Mother,  why  is  Hazel  wearing  her  garden  party 
dress?" 

Dear  mother  looked  worried,  and  shuffled  behind 
the  tea-cosy.  She  felt  that  Angela  for  some  reason 
was  annoyed,  and  she  does  not  like  Angela  to  be  an- 
noyed. She  looked  at  me  appealingly,  and  her  cap 
slipped  a  little  to  one  side. 

"Angela,"  I  said,  "  I  am  quite  capable  of  answering 
for  myself.  I  am  wearing  this  gown  because  it  suits 

[48] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

me  to  do  so.  And  please  do  not  speak  of  it  as  my 
garden  party  dress.  I  don't  go  to  garden  parties,  as 
you  are  aware.  People  in  Heatherland  don't  give 
them." 

Angela  breathed  hard. 

"Are  you  going  to  church  in  it  ?  " 

"Certainly,"  I  replied. 

She  lifted  her  hands  in  horror. 

"And  after  all  your  training!  to  go  decked  out  like 
a  common  village  girl  on  a  Whit-Sunday !  I  should  be 
ashamed  to  be  seen  with  you.  It's  disgraceful.  What 
will  Mrs.  Gates  think  ?  " 

With  an  effort  I  fought  down  my  rising  anger. 

"  It  does  not  trouble  me  what  Mrs.  Gates  may  think. 
She  will  probably  be  envious  that  she  is  not  young 
enough  to  wear  white,  and  will  wish  that  her  waist  was 
of  more  normal  proportions.  And  if  you  object  to 
being  seen  with  me  I  will  go  to  another  seat.  I  have 
always  had  a  desire  to  sit  in  the  gallery." 

Mother  shook  her  head  at  me. 

"Perhaps  your  sister  is  right.  You  had  better 
change  it  after  breakfast,  Hazel." 

"But  do  you  think  white — simple  white  muslin — is 
out  of  place  in  a  church,  mother?  You  know  you 
used  to  wear  colored  muslins  when  you  were  a  girl. 
You  know  you  did;  you  have  told  me  so." 

She  looked  at  Angela. 

"I  don't  think  white  matters  so  much,"  she  began 

hesitatingly.     "  But " 

4  [49] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"  Well,  that  settles  it,"  I  broke  in.  "  So  long  as  you 
don't  object  I  shall  wear  it." 

I  was  amazed  at  my  own  temerity,  and  hurried  out 
of  the  room.  I  rarely  fight  Angela.  Few  things  are 
worth  the  trouble;  and  besides,  mother  always  takes 
her  part,  and  two  are  more  than  I  can  combat. 

Before  going  to  church  I  fastened  some  yellow  roses 
into  my  fichu.  Again  Angela  got  me  wild  by  remark- 
ing that  I  might  be  going  to  a  wedding.  She  said  it 
under  her  breath,  but  of  course  she  meant  me  to  hear. 
I  crunched  down  the  gravel  walk  in  front  of  her  to  the 
gate,  not  daring  to  let  myself  speak — if  I  once  let  my- 
self go  there  would  be  a  row.  And  for  mother's  sake 
— well,  for  mother's  sake,  I  didn't  call  her  a  common, 
yellow,  kitchen  cat,  though  I  repeated  it  to  myself 
several  times  over  as  we  walked  down  the  lane  to  the 
church — "Angela  is  a  common,  yellow,  kitchen  cat" 
and  it  brought  me  some  relief.  I  was  still  repeating  it 
as  I  passed  down  the  aisle  and  along  the  seat  to  my 
place  in  the  corner  and  knelt  on  a  hard  hassock. 
Angela  is  High  Church,  and  she  bowed  low  before 
entering  the  pew.  Suddenly  the  thought  came  to  me 
— how  comical  for  a  yellow,  kitchen  cat  to  be  High 
Church.  I  stifled  a  laugh,  and  Angela  eyed  me  with 
extreme  disapproval.  With  an  effort  I  pulled  myself 
together,  and  looking  up  at  the  east  window,  tried  to 
pray;  nothing  would  come  but  "Angela  is  a  common, 
yellow,  kitchen  cat."  I  ought  to  have  been  over- 
whelmed at  my  wickedness,  at  my  irreverence,  but 

[50] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHEBLAND 

strangely  enough  I  wasn't.  I  felt  somehow  that  God 
would  be  understanding.  He  had  created  Angela,  so 
would  know  all  about  her.  He  would  know  how  try- 
ing she  was,  what  a  thorn  in  the  flesh.  I  am  convinced 
St.  Paul's  "  thorn  in  the  flesh  "  was  an  Angela,  or  why 
was  he  so  down  upon  women  ? 

Mr.  Oates's  stentorian  "Dearly  beloved  brethren" 
called  me  to  attention.  I  felt  a  little  tired  of  Mr. 
Oates;  he  is  so  noisy,  and  uses  his  handkerchief  so 
frequently,  which  he  waves  like  a  flag.  I  was  tired, 
too,  of  Mrs.  Oates's  boat-shaped  hat,  which  is  kept  on 
by  a  shabby,  stringy  piece  of  elastic  and  a  jet  button.  I 
wished  she  would  get  a  new  one ;  boat-shaped  hats  are 
not  pretty,  and  she  would  look  much  better  in  a  bonnet. 

My  eyes  wandered  to  mother.  She  wore  an  ab- 
sorbed, happy,  uplifted  expression.  Mother  is  really 
religious;  prayer  is  a  true  pleasure  to  her,  and  her 
Sunday  reading  of  the  Church  Times  one  of  her  pleas- 
antest  relaxations.  The  mauve  bow  in  her  best  bonnet 
looked  reverent  and  Sundayfied,  her  mantle  reminded 
one  of  saints'  days,  and  her  very  gloves  were  black  kid 
and  devout.  She  had  forgotten  her  housekeeping  and 
account  books,  and  Angela's  and  my  "  little  differences," 
as  she  calls  them.  Her  soul  and  mind  and  spirit  were, 
for  the  moment,  above  the  things  of  this  world.  Dear 
old  mother,  how  perfect  she  would  be  but  for  her  short- 
sightedness in  loving  her  elder  daughter  better  than 
her  younger!  She  is  so  very  nice  when  you  get  her 
quite  alone  to  yourself! 

[51] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

I  passed  on  to  Angela.  Her  face  beneath  its  fawn 
velvet  hat  was  inscrutable.  She  bowed  low  in  the 
Creed  and  never  raised  her  eyes  from  her  vellum- 
backed  Prayer-book. 

The  Misses  Trimmington  I  regarded  with  friendly 
eye,  and  admired  their  pretty,  gray,  bobbing  curls. 
I  shall  begin  curls  when  I  am  fifty;  they  are  such  a 
soft  frame  to  little,  old  faces. 

From  the  Misses  Trimmington  I  wandered  on  to 
Sammy  away  in  the  north  aisle.  I  felt  fearful  of  his 
expending  so  much  energy  on  "Onward,  Christian 
Soldiers."  His  cheeks  were  quite  purple  and  the  day 
was  hot.  I  glanced  round  to  see  if  the  door  were  open, 
and — fell  right  upon  Mr.  Inderwick.  The  encounter 
was  so  sudden,  so  unexpected — I  had  completely  for- 
gotten him — that  for  a  moment  my  heart  seemed  to 
stand  still.  And  then  I  smiled  that  wide,  friendly, 
intimate  smile.  As  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  fourteen 
years  slipped  away  from  me.  I  was  no  longer  Hazel 
Wycherley,  grown  up,  but  a  little,  thin,  freckled,  happy 
girl  standing  barefooted  in  a  pool  of  water,  poking 
about  with  a  stick  for  crabs  and  mussels  and  nimbly 
darting  eels,  and  skipping  along  the  warm  sands  at  the 
side  of  a  big,  grave,  kind  man.  The  church  faded 
from  view,  the  congregation  vanished,  Mr.  Oates's 
voice  ceased.  I  was  alone  with  my  dear  old  friend, 
quite  alone  in  the  sunshine,  and  in  the  gladness  of  my 
heart  I  smiled,  smiled  happily,  smiled  a  welcome,  and 
— he  did  not  return  it.  Shall  I  ever  forget  it  ?  Not  a 

[52] 


flicker  of  recognition,  of  interest,  even — just  that  petri- 
fied stare  of  surprise. 

Have  I  ever  loved  the  Litany  so  much  as  I  buried 
my  burning  face  in  my  hands  ?  ever  been  so  grateful 
to  it  for  its  length  ?  ever  loved  the  King  and  Queen 
and  all  the  Royal  Family,  and  the  bishops  and  priests 
and  the  different  people  for  whom  we  intercede,  more 
devoutly?  At  its  close  Angela  had  to  nudge  me 
to  get  up.  I  longed  for  that  Litany  to  go  on  for- 
ever. 

How  did  I  get  through  the  rest  of  the  service  and  the 
long,  dreary  sermon?  One  thing  supported  me:  I 
had  decided  to  feel  faint.  As  the  last  hymn  was  given 
out  I  would  be  seized  with  a  sudden  faintness  and  slip 
out  of  the  church.  Or  perhaps  it  would  be  better  dur- 
ing the  prayer  after  the  collection,  when  mother  and 
Angela  were  not  looking.  Of  one  thing  I  was  certain, 
I  could  not  and  would  not  run  the  risk  of  being  banged 
up  against  that  man  at  the  end  of  the  service.  It 
was  just  the  sort  of  thing  Fate  would  glory  in  doing. 
The  collection  was  over,  the  congregation  was  down 
on  its  knees,  and  swiftly  and  stealthily  I  crept  from 
the  church. 

Jonah,  full  of  solicitude,  bore  down  upon  me  in 
the  porch;  but  I  waved  him  aside,  and  taking  to  my 
heels,  I  flew — flew  as  I  had  never  flown  before,  and 
never  drawing  breath  till  I  lay  on  the  grass  beneath  the 
friendly  shade  of  the  sycamore  tree. 

Five  minutes  later  mother  and  Angela  crossed  the 
[53] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

lawn,  their  faces  full  of  burning  interest  and  anxiety. 
In  her  haste  mother  was  holding  her  skirt  too  high, 
and  I  felt  obliged  to  refer  to  this. 

"What  is  it?  What  is  the  matter?"  they  cried  to- 
gether. 

With  a  little  inward  gasp  I  realized  I  should  have  to 
tell  lies.  I  dislike  lying  exceedingly.  Mother  herself 
is  the  soul  of  honor,  and  has  brought  us  up  to  regard 
lying  in  the  same  light  as  committing  murder  or  steal- 
ing loaves  of  bread.  But  there  was  Angela!  How 
could  I  tell  Angela  of  my  humiliation  ?  It  was  impos- 
sible, insupportable.  I  would  sooner  a  thousand  times 
over  break  every  one  of  the  commandments. 

"I  was  not  well;  the  church  was  hot,"  I  replied, 
looking  into  space. 

"Not  well!" 

Their  astonishment  was  excessive. 

"No,"  I  said,  closing  my  eyes. 

"  Dear  me,"  observed  mother. 

"How  extraordinary!"  ejaculated  Angela. 

They  stood  and  stared  at  me;  my  eyes  were  closed, 
but  I  knew  they  were  staring. 

"Your  color  is  good,"  remarked  Angela  at  length. 

"It  may  be  the  heat,"  said  mother. 

I  wanted  to  get  up  and  kiss  her,  but  desisted. 

"I  never  before  knew  people  who  were  not  well 
have  a  good  color,"  persisted  my  sister. 

"  What  about  apoplexy  ?  "  I  said,  opening  my  eyes. 

Mother  jumped. 

[54] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

"You  have  not  got  apoplexy,"  said  Angela  with 
decision. 

"Whatever  be  the  matter,"  interrupted  mother,  "I 
consider  it  is  most  foolish  to  lie  on  the  grass.  You 
had  better  go  to  the  drawing-room  sofa,  and  we  will 
bring  you  your  dinner  there,  and  you  shall  have  my 
salts  and  a  fan.  Your  dear  father  used  to  be  taken  in 
this  way." 

"  I  am  feeling  better  now,"  I  murmured,  as  I  got  up. 

The  prospect  of  the  hard  drawing-room  sofa  was 
anything  but  attractive. 

"Take  my  arm,"  said  mother;  "it  is  a  blessing  you 
did  not  faint  on  your  way  home.  Why  did  you  not 
whisper  to  Angela  ?  " 

"Angela  doesn't  like  whispering  in  church,"  I  said. 

"  It  would  not  have  mattered  for  once,"  said  mother, 
as  she  placed  a  woolwork  cushion  at  the  back  of  my 
head  and  held  some  pungent  salts  to  my  nose. 

I  was  kept  on  the  sofa  for  the  remainder  of  the  day, 
and  I  think  my  punishment  was  greater  than  I  deserved, 
for  all  I  had  done  was  to  smile  at  a  man  and  tell  one 
lie  to  mother  and  Angela.  One  smile  plus  one  lie 
equals  one  day  spent  on  a  hard  sofa  without  springs 
listening  to  mother  and  Angela  discuss  our  identity 
with  the  "  ten  lost  tribes  of  Israel." 


[55] 


CHAPTER  V 

An  Encounter  With  Mr.  Inderwick 

ON  Tuesday  afternoon  I  was  engaged  in  picking 
earwigs  out  of  the  dahlias,  when  mother  came 
out  and  requested  me  to  go  to  Gayton  for  sau- 
sages, as  she  had  heard  that  Eliza  Slightfoot  had  killed 
a  pig. 

I  told  her  I  was  tired,  and  she  looked  surprised. 

"What  with?"  said  she;  and  I  had  nothing  to  say, 
for  catching  earwigs  is  not  laborious  work. 

"Don't  you  think  it  is  rather  early  for  sausages?" 
I  asked. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  mother  with  decision.  "Eliza 
Slightfoot  knows  her  business,  and  September  is  the 
correct  month  in  which  to  kill  small  porkers.  Don't 
you  want  to  go  ?  "  she  finished,  looking  at  me  curiously. 

"Oh,  yes!"  I  replied  hastily,  which  made  my  hun- 
dred-and-seventh  fib  in  nine  days. 

"  Take  Dibbs,"  called  out  mother;  and  I  took  Dibbs, 
and  he  was  the  cause  of  my  running  up  against  the 
man  whom  I  have  been  avoiding  as  I  would  one 
afflicted  with  the  plague. 

Dibbs  scented  a  rabbit.  Dibbs  is  always  scenting  a 
rabbit.  It  would  be  impossible  to  state  the  number  of 

[56J 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

days  on  which  he  has  not  scented  rabbits  and  been  shot 
at  by  irate  gamekeepers.  Some  day  I  shall  let  him  be 
shot  and  then  it  will  teach  him  a  lesson. 

It  was  round  by  Gayton  Hall  that  his  nostrils  first 
began  to  quiver  and  dilate  and  his  body  to  tremble. 
I  knew  the  symptoms  well. 

"Dibbs,"  I  said  sternly,  "get  to  heel." 

He  took  not  the  faintest  notice  of  my  command,  and 
his  whole  body  vibrated  and  trembled  as  with  an 
ague. 

"  Dibbs,"  I  repeated  still  more  sternly. 

More  vibrations,  then  a  sudden  dart  across  a  field 
and  the  vanishing  of  a  white  tail  into  a  thicket — the 
same  thicket  into  which  it  has  been  vanishing  for  many 
years,  and  whose  geographical  position  I  am  always 
hoping  he  may  chance  to  forget. 

Guns  were  popping  in  the  distance  from  the  far  end 
of  the  stubbly  field.  Dibbs  would  be  shot  this  time; 
my  little  wall-eyed  fox-terrier  would  creep  under  a 
bush  and  bleed  to  death. 

"Dibbs!"  I  entreated,  cajoled,  commanded,  yelled, 
till  my  throat  was  hoarse  and  my  temper  shocking. 
No  response.  Rapidly  the  different  forms  of  punish- 
ment I  would  meet  out  to  him  when  I  did  catch  him 
passed  through  my  mind — a  good  whipping,  I  would 
put  him  on  the  leash,  no  bones  for  two  days,  no  walk 
for  a  week.  Full  of  stern  resolve,  I  was  just  preparing 
to  scale  a  five-barred  gate  to  go  after  him,  when  an 
exceedingly  large  and  somewhat  soiled-looking  man 

[57] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

turned  the  corner  of  the  lane  and  bore  down  upon  me. 
It  was  Mr.  Indenvick.  Of  course  it  was  Mr.  Inder- 
wick.  Have  I  not  ever  observed  that  should  you  be 
desirous  of  avoiding  the  Mr.  Inderwicks  of  this  world 
you  are  bound  to  tumble  across  them.  It  is  Fate's 
playful  little  way  of  giving  you  a  good  time.  The 
population  of  Heatherland  is  seven  hundred,  the  village 
straggles,  it  contains  many  lanes  and  field-paths,  and 
out  of  the  whole  of  that  population  Mr.  Inderwick 
Should  chance  to  be  the  man  to  select  the  particular 
lane  in  which  I  was  standing  to  prowl  about  like  a 
tramp. 

All  my  shame  and  nervousness  of  him  had  vanished. 
I  had  forgotten  my  wide,  friendly  smile;  I  had  for- 
gotten his  snub.  I  simply  felt  angry — angry  that  he 
should  be  there. 

Climbing  the  gate  slowly,  and  seating  myself  on  the 
topmost  bar,  I  deliberately  turned  my  back  on  the 
advancing  figure  and  fell  to  admiring  the  sunset. 

He  would  pass,  of  course.  He  did  not  know  me; 
and  even  if,  by  the  remotest  chance,  he  were  to  recog- 
nize my  aggressive  back,  he  would  understand  I  was 
"doing"  sunsets,  and  would  naturally  resent  an  inter- 
ruption. No  one  likes  to  be  disturbed  when  commun- 
ing with  Nature.  He  would  appreciate  this.  The 
footsteps  came  nearer  and  nearer,  paused,  and  then 
stopped  just  behind  me.  My  back  became  as  a  ram- 
rod and  my  neck  and  head  stiffened  as  in  a  vise.  What 
impertinence!  What  did  he  mean  by  daring  to  stop? 

[58] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

He  stood  for  a  moment  in  silence,  then  he  said  very 
politely  and  very  pleasantly — 

"  Good  afternoon,  Miss  Hazel." 

It  must  have  been  about  the  fraction  of  an  inch  that  I 
permitted  my  head  to  turn  in  his  direction,  then  "  Sir," 
said  I  in  tones  of  ice,  "you  have  the  advantage  of  me." 

I  could  feel  his  little  start  of  surprise. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  he,  "but  are  you  not — 
are  you  not  my  old  friend  Miss  Hazel  Wycherley? 
Surely  I  cannot  be  mistaken  ?  " 

His  voice  was  deep,  almost  gruff,  but  there  was  a 
friendly  ring  in  it.  Momentarily  I  relaxed;  I  turned 
my  head  round  a  shade  further.  Then  my  smile  and 
his  stare  thrust  themselves  before  my  vision.  If  he 
knew  me  now,  why  not  on  Sunday  ? 

"Certainly,  I  am  Hazel  Wycherley.  You  are  not 
mistaken  in  my  name,  but — at  the  moment — I  regret 
to  say  that  I  am  unable  to  claim  the  honor  of  your 
friendship.  You  have  made  a  mistake  in  that  respect. 
I  must  bid  you  good  afternoon,"  and  once  again  I 
turned  my  face  to  the  sunset 

Now  of  course  he  would  go  away.  No  man  would 
dare  to  stay  after  such  a  rebuff.  But  nothing  of  the 
kind;  he  simply  came  a  little  closer  to  me,  leaned  the 
gun  he  was  carrying  against  the  gate,  and  studied  my 
profile  carefully  and  critically.  Never  have  I  experi- 
enced anything  more  trying  than  that  prolonged 
scrutiny.  I  felt  the  color  rush  into  my  cheeks  and  my 
hands  trembled.  Presently  he  said  calmly — 

[59] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Yes,  you  are  Hazel  Wycherley.  I  thought  I  could 
not  be  mistaken.  Excuse  my  persistence;  I  do  not 
wish  to  appear  rude,  but — I  am  Robert  Inderwick. 
You  and  I  were  good  friends  and  boon  companions  in 
the  old  days,  when  you  were  quite  a  little  girl.  We 
went  cockling  together,  and  caught  an  eel — almost  as 
big  as  a  conger,  and  you  gave  me  a  beautiful  book- 
marker. Now  don't  you  remember  me  ?  I  hope  you 
do.  I  should  be  sorry — if  you  had  forgotten  me.  I 
have  always  kept  the  bookmarker." 

In  spite  of  myself  I  softened.  So  he  had  kept  the 
bookmarker.  He  had  not  forgotten.  But  why — why 
that  frozen  stare  in  church?  Why  had  he  humili- 
ated me  in  the  presence  of  all  the  women  of  Heather- 
land?  I  whipped  up  my  anger,  then  I  turned  round 
and  faced  him  squarely,  studying  him  with  seeming 
interest. 

"  Oh,  is  it  Mr.  Inderwick  ? " — I  spoke  lightly  and 
with  some  surprise — "  the  Mr.  Inderwick  who  has  come 
to  live  at  the  Old  Hall  Farm,  and  about  whose  move- 
ments Heatherland  is  all  agog  ?  How  remiss  of  me  to 
have  forgotten  you!  But — but  childish  friendships 
rarely  withstand  the  lapse  of  years.  I — should  not 
have  known  you.  I  am  sorry,  and — I  will  bid  you 
good-day,  sir;  I  am  in  a  hurry." 

I  climbed  down  from  the  gate.  Gravely  he  offered 
me  his  hand,  but  I  refused  his  help.  Suddenly  I  felt 
small,  babyish,  futile,  ineffectual.  There  was  a  look 
of  quiet  amusement  in  the  corners  of  his  eyes  and  the 

[60] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

flicker  of  his  firm,  clean-shaven  lips  as,  picking  up  his 
gun,  he  said — 

"I  won't  detain  you  longer.  I  must  apologize  for 
thrusting  myself  upon  you.  I  should  have  waited  for 
a  re-introduction;  but — well,  you  were  such  a  jolly 
little  girl  in  the  old  days,  and  I  thought  you  might  not 
have  forgotten  me.  I  am  sorry." 

He  raised  his  cap,  and  the  next  moment  he  had 
gone. 

I  stamped  my  foot  with  temper  as  I  watched  his 
square  figure  retreating  down  the  lane,  looking  for  all 
the  world  like  a  solid  Rock  of  Gibraltar  which  had 
been  bombarded  by  a  small  popgun.  I  realized  that 
I  had  not  only  been  extremely  rude,  but  a  fool.  And 
that  Mr.  Inderwick  thought  me  such  had  showed  only 
too  plainly  in  his  amused  smile. 

Why  did  he  go  away  so  quickly  ?  Why  do  men  take 
girls  so  literally  ?  He  might — if  he  had  had  one  grain 
of  perception — have  seen  I  was  beginning  to  unbend 
and  wanted  him  to  stay.  Men  are  so  dense.  It  is 
pitiful.  And  now  he  thinks  me  rude,  ungracious,  and 
ill-bred;  and  so  I  am,  all  three,  and  an  idiot  into  the 
bargain.  Here  have  I  been  simply  longing  for  a  man 
friend  for  months.  I  am  so  tired  of  women — even  our 
oil  stove  is  feminine — it  is  called  Consuela;  and  I  am 
weary  of  Frederick  Moss  and  his  love-making  and  silly 
poems  which  always  begin — 

"  Oh,  Hazel,  of  the  deep  blue  eyes 

And  hair  of  raven  hue." 

[61] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

And  then  the  first  nice  man  (I  can  see  he  is  nice)  who 
comes  along  and  offers  his  hand  to  me  in  friendship, 
if  I  don't  go  and  thrust  it  rudely  aside  without  offering 
any  explanation  for  so  doing,  and  altogether  behave 
like  a  rude,  gauche  schoolgirl  miss.  And  all  because 
my  vanity  had  been  assailed,  because  my  pride  was  up 
in  arms,  because  I  imagined  I  had  been  intentionally 
snubbed  by  a  man,  when — when  I  don't  suppose  he 
even  saw  me,  and  if  he  did  would  probably  think  I  was 
smiling  at  some  one  else,  at  some  one  beyond  him,  some 
one  I  knew  well.  He  would  never  dream  I  ccruld  be 
smiling  at  him — a  comparative  stranger;  and  his  look 
of  surprise  was  purely  a  trick  of  my  own  imagination. 
I  was  a  narrow,  self-centred,  stuck-up,  country-bred 
creature,  attaching  vital  importance  to  the  most  trifling 
events,  imagining  myself  the  hub  of  the  universe,  with 
no  power  of  seeing  beyond  my  own  nose  or  getting  out- 
side my  own  environment;  the  product  of  a  village, 
and  the  smallest  thing  in  it. 

I  climbed  over  the  gate,  tore  across  the  stubbly  field, 
and  came  across  Dibbs  just  as  he  was  careering  out  of 
the  thicket  with  a  flushed  look  of  victory  about  him. 
With  canine  instinct  he  instantly  appreciated  my  frame 
of  mind  and  temper.  His  tail  dropped  and  clung  to  his 
Mnd  legs,  he  fell  flat  on  his  stomach,  and  like  an  abject 
worm  crawled  across  the  rough  stubble  to  meet  me. 

"Yes,  Dibbs,"  I  said,  "you  are  going  to  be  thrashed. 
You  have  got  me  into  a  fine  mess,  and  you  must  suffer 
for  it." 

[62] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

And  then  I  thrashed  him.  I  hit  harder  than  usual, 
and  Dibbs  seemed  very  surprised.  He  turned  his  poor 
wall  eye  upon  me  reproachfully,  and  gave  a  little 
whine. 

As  soon  as  I  had  finished  I  felt  remorseful,  and  tak- 
ing him  up  in  my  arms  I  kissed  his  poor,  sore  back. 
This  seemed  to  surprise  him  still  more,  and  he  fell  to 
licking  my  face. 

Then  I  wept  over  him,  and  this  seemed  to  surprise 
him  most,  for,  sitting  up  on  his  hind  legs,  he  gave  vent 
to  a  doleful  howl. 

"Oh,  Dibbs,"  I  moaned,  putting  my  arms  round 
his  neck,  "I  am  the  most  wretched  girl  in  the  world. 
I  am  sick  of  everything.  I  am  sick  of  my  life,  I  am 
sick  of  housework,  I  am  sick  of  Heatherland,  and, 
above  all,  I  am  most  sick  of  myself,"  and  again  dear 
old  Dibbs  gave  a  little  howl  of  sympathy.  Then  I 
wiped  away  my  tears,  gathered  myself  up,  and  went  in 
quest  of  sausages. 

When  I  arrived  home  it  was  quite  dark.  The  lamps 
were  lit,  and  Angela  was  singing  Home,  Sweet  Home 
to  an  accompaniment  of  arpeggios.  I  fled  to  my  room, 
and,  kneeling  down,  I  said,  "  Lord,  may  I  be  something 
male  in  the  next  life.  I  don't  care  what  it  is,  a  weazel 
even,  so  long  as  it  is  not  female."  Then  I  went  down 
to  tea,  and  afterwards  hemmed  a  new  dust  sheet,  while 
mother  read  aloud  extracts  from  a  report  of  the  Church 
Congress,  in  which  Angela  was  greatly  interested. 

Just  before  prayers  my  sister  said — 
[63] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"  We  hear  Mr.  Inderwick  was  in  church  last  Sunday 
week,  Hazel.  It  was  unfortunate  you  should  have  been 
taken  ill  that  morning,  as  we  might  have  spoken  to  him 
coming  out,  and  as  it  was  we  didn't  even  see  him. 
Mrs.  Moss  and  Mrs.  Hawthorn  and  Mrs.  Gates  all 
spoke  to  him." 

"Indeed,"  I  said. 

"  Yes.  They  have  been  making  some  inquiries  about 
his  antecedents  and  they  are  quite  satisfactory,  and  he 
himself  has  been  to  a  university,  I  don't  know  which, 
but  we  shall  be  able  to  know  him." 

There  was  a  ring  of  patronage  in  Angela's  voice 
which  exasperated  me. 

"How  nice  for  him,"  I  said  gently. 

She  raised  her  eyes  from  her  sewing. 

"Yes,  it  is  a  great  advantage  to  a  young  man  to  be 
received  into  good  families,"  she  answered. 

"  Is  ours  good  ?  We  have  a  cousin  who  is  a  draper," 
I  observed. 

Angela  looked  shocked. 

"Only  by  marriage,"  she  said  quickly.  "He  is  no 
blood  relation,  and  we  have  never  even  seen  him." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  him.  A  draper  in  the  family 
would  be  very  useful,"  I  said  softly. 

She  did  not  answer,  and,  reaching  out  the  Bible  and 
Prayer-book,  rang  the  bell  for  the  servants  with  un- 
usual strength. 


[64J 


CHAPTER  VI 

I  Go  on  a  Visit  to  Aunt  Menelophe 

I  AM  visiting  Step-aunt  Menelophe,  and  am  seated 
before  a  bright  little  wood  fire — as  the  evenings 
are  chilly — in  a  lovely,  romantic  bedroom  called 
"The  Ghost  Room."  Aunt  Menelophe  thought  I 
should  be  nervous  to  sleep  here  alone,  as  it  is  down 
a  winding  sort  of  corridor,  quite  a  good  way  from  all 
the  other  bedrooms;  but  as  soon  as  ever  she  told  me 
about  it  I  begged  to  be  put  here.  I  said,  "  It's  not  often 
that  one  gets  a  chance  of  sleeping  in  a  real  ghost  room 
at  an  old  hall,  and  it  would  be  a  shame  to  allow  such 
an  opportunity  for  romance  to  be  wasted." 

And  Aunt  Menelophe  smiled,  and  ordered  a  fire  to 
be  lit  each  evening  to  keep  me  company.  So  far  noth- 
ing has  happened,  and  I  really  don't  know  what  I 
ought  to  expect,  as  everybody  in  the  house  seems 
divided  as  to  the  real  legend  of  the  room.  The  butler 
says  a  goat  with  two  tails  should  clank  through  the 
place  in  chains  at  twelve  o'clock  at  night.  He  does  not 
give  any  reason  for  its  doing  this.  Aunt  Menelophe 
says  it  should  be  a  woman  dressed  in  white  (I  often 
think  what  an  expensive  item  a  ghost's  laundry  must 
be,  as  it  is  always  composed  of  white),  who  takes  up 
5  [65] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

a  position  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  and  then  groans  three 
times.  And  Butterby — who  is  aunt's  youngest  son — 
says  it  should  be  an  enormous  toad  with  a  man's  head, 
three  hundred  years  old,  which  crawls  on  to  your 
bed  and  spits  three  times,  and  then  vanishes  through  the 
bed  and  floor.  I  must  say  I  like  the  sound  of  the  toad 
the  least,  especially  as  it  appears  to  have  vulgar  habits. 

Up  to  the  present — and  I  have  been  here  for  four 
days — nothing  spectral,  bogey,  repulsive,  uncanny, 
cadaverous,  or  grewsome  has  appeared.  I  fasten  my 
eyes  on  all  the  little,  dim,  ghostly  corners  of  the  room, 
rendered  more  uncanny  by  the  flickering  light  of  the 
dying  fire,  but  I  see  nothing.  My  eyes  begin  to  get  tired 
and  heavy;  I  nod  and  doze,  and  blink  and  nod,  and 
dream  little  funny  dreams,  till  sleep  overpowers  me, 
and  I  know  nothing  more  till  Parkins  rouses  me  with 
morning  tea. 

If  any  one  had  told  me  ten  days  ago  that  I  should  be 
staying  with  Aunt  Menelophe  and  sitting  up  here  in 
the  famous  ghost  room  writing  to-night,  I  should  have 
said  that  person  had  a  most  powerful  imagination. 

It  happened  this  way.  One  morning  last  week 
mother  received  a  letter  from  Aunt  Menelophe,  who 
is  father's  eldest  step-sister.  This  was  the  letter 

"THE  HALL,  BLONGTON,  STAFFS., 

"September  23d, . 

"Mr  DEAR  ELIZABETH: 

"It  is  many  years  since  we  met,  and  you  and  I 
are  now  widows,  and  I  trust  are  each  bearing  our  loss 

[66] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

with  fortitude.  My  husband  was  a  martyr  to  gout. 
It  was  a  happy  release  when  he  was  taken.  Yours 
was  one  of  those  rare  men  whose  language  was 
as  controlled  as  his  temper.  John  Wycherley  was 
God's  eighth  creation.  Your  loss  was  heaven's 
gain. 

"I  believe  you  have  two  nice  daughters.  I  have 
three  moderately  satisfactory  sons.  The  eldest — 
Wellesley — is  in  London  on  a  paper.  The  second — 
Dick — is  supposed  to  be  living  at  home.  I  see  him 
when  he  is  ill  and  occasionally  on  Sundays.  I  rise 
late  and  go  to  bed  early.  The  youngest — Butterby,  a 
family  name — is  a  naturalist.  In  his  spare  time  he 
manages  the  Swedgwood  Pottery  Works,  and  often 
expresses  his  surprise  at  the  manner  in  which  the 
Americans  forge  ahead.  Possibly  America  does  not 
grow  moths  and  butterflies. 

"You  will  gather  from  this  I  am  somewhat  lone- 
ly. The  Lord  thought  fit  to  remove  my  only  daugh- 
ter. I  do  not  question  His  ways.  Just  now  I  am  de- 
pressed after  a  long  illness.  Will  you  lend  me  one  of 
your  daughters  for  three  weeks — the  livelier  of  the  two 
for  choice  ?  I  will  return  her  at  the  expiration  of  that 
period.  I  will  do  the  best  I  can  to  render  her  visit 
pleasant.  Blongton  is  not  a  gay  place.  It  makes  pots, 
and  exists  beneath  a  heavy  pall  of  smoke.  All  our 
energies  are  concentrated  in  removing  the  dirt  from 
our  persons  and  houses,  so  we  have  no  superfluous 
strength  for  festivities.  An  occasional  dinner  party  is 
our  only  relaxation,  and  that  is  very  occasional.  I  feel 
I  must  tell  you  this,  so  that  if  one  of  your  daughters 

[67] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

should  take  pity  on  a  lonely  old  woman  she  will  be 
under  no  misapprehension. 

"Your  affectionate  step-sister-in-law, 

"MENELOPHE  MENZIES." 

"P.S. — Next  Tuesday  would  suit  me.  There  is  a 
good  train  from  Birkenhead  at  one  o'clock.  Change 
at  Crewe.  The  dog-cart  shall  meet  her.  Only  one 
dinner  gown  necessary.  I  wonder  if  you  wear  caps. — 
M.  M." 

We  read  this  letter  through  three  times,  and  then 
Angela  said,  "  What  a  calm  person!" 

"Yes,"  said  mother,  "she  was  always  peculiar,  and 
fond  of  your  father  "  (mother  didn't  know  she  had  said 
anything  in  the  least  funny).  "She  was  very  clever 
and  extraordinarily  handsome  as  a  young  woman." 

"  And,"  said  I,"  I  like  her.  Any  one  who  said  such 
a  thing  about  father  must  be  nice." 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  mother,  "you  shall  be  the 
one  to  go." 

This  rapid  decision  on  mother's  part,  without  con- 
sulting Angela,  astonished  and  delighted  me.  I  could 
have  jumped  for  joy.  I  panted  to  get  away  from 
Heatherland  and  that  objectionable,  horrid  man. 
Could  anything  have  been  more  opportune  ?  But  I 
mustn't  appear  too  keen,  or  Angela,  as  the  elder,  might 
think  it  was  her  duty  to  go  and  cheer  up  Aunt  Menel- 
ophe,  and  Angela  is  faithful  to  duty.  I  must  dissemble. 

"But  I  am  not  lively,  mother,  and  I  don't  think  I 
want  to  go,"  I  asserted. 

[68] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Yes,  you  are;  you  are  very  lively — boisterous, 
almost,  at  times.  We  should  be  very  dull  without  you. 
But  lately  you  have  seemed  depressed,  and  have  not 
even  gone  blackberrying.  You  evidently  want  a 
change,"  finished  mother  conclusively,  and  she  looked 
toward  Angela  for  support. 

"  But,  mother,"  I  cried,  "  it  will  be  too  awful  to  go 
and  feel  I  must  be  a  drawing-room  entertainment,  a 
clown  at  a  pantomime,  and  a  performing  dog  at  a  fair 
rolled  in  one,  just  for  Aunt  Menelophe's  amusement. 
I  should  be  worn  to  a  shadow  in  three  weeks." 

"No,  you  wouldn't.  Just  be  your  natural,  bright, 
happy  self,  and  Aunt  Menelophe  will  be  quite  satis- 
fied." (There  are  times  when  I  love  mother  much 
more  than  at  others.) 

"But  wouldn't  Angela  like  to  go?"  I  inquired 
politely. 

"No,  thank  you,"  replied  my  elder  sister.  "Life  is 
too  serious,  to  my  thinking,  to  be  spent  in  laughing 
and  giggling  and  being  funny.  Besides,  too,  I  couldn't 
be  spared.  There  are  my  old  women  and  Sunday- 
school  class,  and  the  walnuts  to  pickle — they  are  just 
ripe." 

"Well,  that  settles  it,"  said  mother.  "Hazel  must 
be  ready  to  start  by  Tuesday  morning  at  eight  o'clock. 
She  will  have  some  time  to  wait  at  Birkenhead  for  the 
train,  but  that  can't  be  helped.  I  couldn't  afford  cabs, 
even  if  there  were  any;  but  she  shall  have  a  new  dinner 
gown — as  Aunt  Menelophe  calls  it,  though  I  like  the 

[69] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

old-fashioned  word  '  dress '  better — out  of  the  sundries 
money  tin  box,  and  Reas,  of  Basnett  Street,  shall  make 
it." 

Then  mother  got  out  her  three  purses  and  four  tin 
boxes  and  plunged  into  a  labyrinth  of  ways  and  means, 
and  I  could  see  that  she  thought  that  gown  would 
land  us  in  the  bankruptcy  court  before  we  could  look 
round. 

"But  you  shall  have  it,  Hazel,"  she  said,  with  an 
effort  at  cheerfulness;  "you  shan't  disgrace  your 
father's  family." 

And  I  was  ready  at  eight  o'clock  on  Tuesday  morn- 
ing. Wild  horses  would  not  have  prevented  my  being 
ready.  I  was  up  at  six,  and  when  I  went  to  the  window 
to  feast  my  eyes,  as  usual,  on  my  dear  Dee  and  blue 
Welsh  hills,  they  were  nowhere  to  be  seen.  There  had 
been  a  sharp  frost  in  the  night,  and  now  great  banks 
of  white  mist  blotted  out  the  entire  landscape;  the 
fields,  the  Old  Hall  Farm,  the  river,  and  the  hills — 
all  had  gone.  The  lawn  lay  dimly  in  front  of  me,  and 
the  brilliant-colored  flowers  of  autumn — dahlias,  holly- 
hocks, snapdragons,  and  phlox — stood  out  from  the 
mist  like  spectres,  and  the  love-lies-bleeding,  lying  in 
the  soaking- wet  grass,  looked  as  though  it  had  had  a 
night  out.  I  went  to  the  bath  room,  and  then  the  sun 
rose  and  gleamed  redly  through  the  whiteness.  And 
it  gleamed  and  turned  from  red  to  gold  and  from  gold 
to  silver,  and  quickened  and  sprang  into  life,  and 
glowed  and  burned  and  threw  out  level  rays  of  heat 

[70] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

upon  the  mist.  And  the  mist,  instead  of  evaporating 
slowly,  seemed  to  solidify  and  build  itself  up  into  great 
banks  and  mountains  of  cloud,  which  rolled  and  swept 
and  rolled  away  along  the  valley  and  lost  themselves 
in  space.  And  the  beauty  of  the  world  stood  forth  re- 
vealed, and  the  sun  shone  upon  millions  of  mist-drops 
which  lay  sparkling  upon  tree  and  bush  and  flower 
and  grass. 

When  I  was  dressed  I  looked  across  at  the  Old  Hall 
Farm  and  the  two  fir-trees  and  shook  my  fist  at 
them.  And  I  chuckled  and  chorted  from  sheer  joy. 
"  I  don't  care  a  fig  what  you  think  of  me,"  I  cried.  "  I 
am  going  away  for  three  whole  weeks;  so  there!  I 
don't  care  a  button  about  you!"  Then  I  read  my 
Scripture  portion,  and  went  down  and  devoured  two 
eggs  and  a  rasher  of  bacon. 

Mother  waved  to  me  from  the  gate  as  I  and  my 
trunk  containing  the  new  gown  climbed  on  to  the 
box  seat  of  the  'bus — which  runs  daily  between  Heath- 
erland  and  Birkenhead — by  Jerry  the  driver,  and 
Sammy  flapped  a  red  handkerchief  at  me  as  we  spanked 
along  past  the  grassy  dell  and  apple-trees  at  the  further 
end  of  the  garden. 

We  always  spank  at  first — the  horses  are  fresh,  and 
the  guard — Billy  Rutter,  aged  twelve — blows  a  horn 
as  big  as  himself;  but  by  the  time  we  have  mounted 
our  third  hill,  the  horses — which  are  really  very  weedy 
rats,  though  I  shouldn't  like  to  say  so  to  Jerry — are 
blowing  like  bassoons.  We  picked  up  two  or  three 

[71] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

passengers — mostly  market  women — on  Heatherland 
Hill,  a  business  man  in  a  bowler  hat — not  one  of  "  the 
families  " — by  the  old  mill,  and  two  more  at  Barnston. 
But  our  load  was  not  heavy,  and  it  was  not  necessary 
to  get  off  and  push  the  'bus  up  the  last  hill,  as  is  some- 
times our  custom. 

It  was  pleasant  swinging  through  the  still,  leafy 
lanes,  with  the  scent  of  early  autumn — one  of  the  most 
delicious  scents  in  the  world — greeting  our  nostrils  on 
every  side;  with  beech-nuts  and  acorns  pattering  like 
raindrops  on  to  the  moist  ground,  and  little  yellow 
birch  leaves  fluttering  through  the  air;  with  scarlet- 
berried  briony,  and  flaming  hips  and  haws,  and  crim- 
son-leaved brambles  and  shining  blackberries,  and  a 
tangle  of  traveller's  joy  peeping  at  you  from  every 
hedgerow. 

I  thought  of  Aunt  Menelophe's  remark,  "We  live 
beneath  a  heavy  pall  of  smoke."  Should  I  see  a  tree 
in  the  Potteries?  Not  that  I  should  have  cared  if  it 
had  been  treeless  and  grassless  and  flowerless  within 
a  ten-mile  radius.  I  always  lived  with  these  things, 
and  to  be  without  them  for  three  weeks  would  be  a 
change.  If  Aunt  Menelophe  had  suggested  my  visiting 
her  in  the  Sahara  Desert,  I  should  have  assented  with 
avidity.  I  was  just  in  the  mood  to  go  away.  Two 
years  had  elapsed  since  I  had  stepped  from  home. 
I  knew  the  look  of  every  stick  and  stone  on  the  place. 
If  one  of  Elizabeth's  saucepan  lids  had  been  on  the 
nail  where  the  potato-masher  usually  hangs,  I  should 

[72] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

have  noticed  it.  It  was  time  I  got  away  for  a  bit.  I 
was  becoming  groovy,  and,  above  all,  I  wanted  to 
avoid  the  possibility  of  meeting  a  large,  extremely  dis- 
agreeable man,  till  I  felt  less  bad  about  him. 

The  dog-cart  met  me  at  Blongton  Station.  It  has 
lovely  yellow  wheels  and  is  as  high  as  a  house.  The 
coachman  touched  his  hat  to  me  as  though  I  had 
been  an  empress.  I  reflected  that  Sammy  never 
touched  his  hat  to  anybody,  and  that  I  must  speak 
to  him  about  it  on  my  return.  I  don't  know  how  my 
trunk  was  conveyed  to  the  house,  but  I  found  it  waiting 
in  my  room  all  unstrapped  as  though  it  had  been 
there  for  years. 

Aunt  Menelophe  met  me  at  the  door,  and  taking 
my  two  hands  in  hers,  kissed  me  on  both  cheeks. 
Then  she  led  me  beneath  the  light  and  studied  me 
carefully  and  critically.  I  wriggled  a  bit  under  this 
long  scrutiny.  I  felt  as  an  insect  must  feel  beneath  a 
microscope,  and  longed  to  get  away  from  the  vicinity 
of  James  the  butler,  who  was  pretending  not  to  look, 
but  was  all  the  time  peeping  at  me  through  a  mirror. 

"You'll  do,"  said  Aunt  Menelophe  at  last.  "Your 
eyes  are  a  treat — I  never  saw  such  a  color — seem  to 
have  caught  up  all  the  blue  of  sky  and  sea,  and  forget- 
me-nots  and  harebells,  and  sapphires  and 

"  Blue-bottles."  I  am  almost  certain  I  heard  James 
mutter,  and  I  drew  quickly  away  from  aunt's  grasp. 
I  turned  and  looked  at  him  searchingly,  but  his  face 
was  as  the  face  of  the  Sphinx. 

[73] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

"Yes,  your  eyes  are  wonderful  and  your  skin  is 
perfect,  but  your  hat's  a  fright — a  perfect  fright,  my 
dear  child;  let  me  implore  of  you  to  hide  it  away  in 
your  trunk  and  never  wear  it  again  in  my  presence. 
It  makes  me  positively  ill." 

I  giggled  from  pure  enjoyment.  I  began  to  like 
Aunt  Menelophe  tremendously. 

"I  am  sorry,  Aunt  Menelophe,"  I  began  gravely, 
"  but  I  have  only  one  other  hat,  which  is  my  best  one, 
for  calls  and  Sundays;  and  I  couldn't  think  of  wearing 
it  every  d " 

"Very  well,  then,"  interrupted  Aunt  Menelophe, 
"we  will  buy  another  to-morrow.  I  couldn't  live 
with  that  atrocity.  Now  come  in  to  tea." 

She  led  the  way  to  a  room  bright  with  firelight,  and 
warm  with  lovely  colors  on  walls  and  floor  and  furni- 
ture. An  oak  bookcase  ran  the  entire  length  of  the 
room,  and  the  pictures  were  all  soft  red  pastels  and 
beautiful  sepias. 

She  handed  me  tea  in  the  daintiest  of  Crown  Derby 
cups,  remarking  I  must  want  it  badly.  "Tea  is  a 
woman's  greatest  solace,"  said  she.  "I  am  convinced 
one  of  the  most  completely  satisfying  things  in  life  is 
a  freshly  made  cup  of  tea — China  and  Ceylon  in  equal 
proportions — with  plenty  of  good  cream,  taken  at  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  in  a  comfortable  chair,  before 
a  bright  fire.  But  perhaps  you  are  too  young  to  appre- 
ciate luxuries.  At  your  age  I  didn't  want  luxuries.  I 
only  wanted  young  men,  pretty  frocks,  and  plenty  of 

[74] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

dancing.  They  were  necessities,  not  luxuries.  Now 
I  like  well-cooked  food,  freshly  made  tea,  a  warm, 
comfortable  bed  with  good  springs,  a  bright  fire,  well- 
trained  servants"  (I  thought  of  James),  "a  good  novel, 
and  a  young,  interesting  person  with  whom  to  talk 
when  I  am  so  disposed.  I  believe  I  could  talk  to  you, 
as  you  appear  to  be  a  good  listener." 

I  smiled  vacuously,  and  reflected  that  so  far  I  had 
not  had  an  opportunity  of  being  anything  else.  Aunt 
Menelophe  pounced  on  my  thought  immediately. 

"  You  shall  talk  to-morrow,"  said  she.  "I  never 
talk  in  a  morning,  or  up  till  four  o'clock.  I  am  too 
depressed.  I  only  exist.  But  as  soon  as  ever  I  have 
had  one  cup  of  tea  I  begin  to  live." 

"  Why  not  have  it  for  breakfast,  then  ?  "  I  queried. 

"No,"  she  said  quickly.  "Don't  suggest  such  a 
thing.  Coffee  is  the  correct  drink  for  breakfast.  I 
couldn't  think  of  altering  it  at  my  time  of  life.  But 
what  was  I  saying?  I  was  talking  of  luxuries  and 
comfort,  wasn't  I?  I  never  go  out  now.  I  gave  up 
society  when  I  became  a  looker-on  and  ceased  to  be 
admired.  Women  become  lookers-on  when  they  have 
turned  forty.  As  soon  as  a  woman — who  has  once  been 
beautiful — becomes  conscious  of  wrinkles,  and  wants 
to  sit  with  her  back  to  the  light,  she  is  better  at  home, 
and  much  happier.  There  is  no  occasion  for  her  then 
to  worry  about  getting  stout,  or  her  complexion  going, 
or  crow's-feet  coming.  Her  children  don't  notice  these 
things,  and  if  her  husband  does  he  is  too  wise  to  say  so." 

[75] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

She  paused  to  give  me  some  more  tea  and  hot  toast. 
I  sat  and  gasped  quietly.     Never  had  I  heard  such 
sentiments.     I  pictured  mother  and  Angela  discussing 
pickled  walnuts  at  home.     How  infinitely  more  inter- 
esting were  the  delightful  things  Aunt  Menelophe  was 
saying!     I  had  never  enjoyed  myself  so  much  in  my 
life.     And  what  a  beautiful  person  she  was,  with  her 
white  hair  piled  high  on  her  head,  and  her  dark  eyes, 
and  the  lovely  old  lace  on  her  soft,  gray  gown,  and  her 
pinky  cheeks.    I  wanted  to  get  up  and  hug  her,  but  I 
thought  she  might  not  like  it,  as  I  had  only  known  her 
about  three-quarters  of  an  hour.     I  lay  back  in  the 
deep  arm-chair,  which  was  drawn  up  by  the  bright 
little  wood  fire,  and  absorbed  the  beauty  of  the  room. 
Had  money  only  achieved  it,  or  was  it  the  result  of 
good  taste  ?    I  reflected  there  must  be  an  inch  at  least 
of  padding  beneath  the  thick  Turkey  carpet  to  give  one 
such  a  sensation  as  I  had  experienced  in  walking  over 
it.    It  had  felt  like  compressed  moss,  one  foot  in  depth. 
I  thought  of  the  worn  Brussels  at  home,  covered  over 
with  faded  patches  of  magenta  roses;  and  our  mottled 
marble  mantelpieces  all  got  up  and  hit  me  in  the  face 
as  I  marvelled  at  the  carving  of  the  old  oak  mantel- 
shelf in  front  of  me.    I  noted  the  form  and  color  of  the 
old  blue  bowls  and  pots,  and  the  richness  of  the  big 
copper  candlesticks  and  three-handled  jars.     Where 
were  the  bronze  horses  and  spill  pots,  and  candelabra 
and  glass  lustres,  and  Parian  jugs  ?    Perhaps  I  should 
find  some  of  them  later  on  in  the  drawing-room.     I 

[76] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

should  feel  lonely  without  a  Parian  jug,  and  should 
almost  forget  what  a  white  bunch  of  grapes  set  about 
with  white  roses  would  look  like.  And  where  was  the 
vast  mahogany  sideboard,  with  its  gorgeous,  shiny 
mirror?  Surely  this  quaint,  fantastic,  carven  oak  sort 
of  dresser  arrangement  was  not  supposed  to  be  a  side- 
board. Why,  proper,  well-conducted,  heavy,  impor- 
tant, made-to-last-a-century  sideboards  would  blush  to 
be  in  the  company  of  such  an  impostor !  I  gave  a  little 
sigh  as  I  looked  at  the  delicious,  soft,  plain,  rich 
blue  walls  around  me  and  thought  of  the  crimson 
and  pink  and  gold  flowery  papers  at  home,  and  felt 
very  depressed.  Then  I  gave  myself  a  big  mental 
shake. 

"Hazel  Wycherley,  you  are  a  cad,  a  low-down 
cad!"  I  said.  "Here  the  very  best  and  kindest  and 
most  unselfish  mother  in  the  world  allows  you  to  come 
and  stay  with  Aunt  Menelophe,  and  gives  you  all  the 
money  out  of  the  'sundries  box'  for  a  new  evening 
frock,  which  money  she  had  been  saving  for  weeks 
toward  having  the  drawing-room  chairs  and  couch 
re-covered — the  rose-red  damask  of  same  being  faded 
almost  white — and  you  just  sit  and  grumble,  and  moan 
and  pity  yourself,  because  your  home  is  plain  and 
ordinary  and  comfortable,  and  doesn't  run  to  velvet- 
piled  carpets  and  blue  bowls.  You  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  yourself,  and  you  want  a  good  beating." 

I  felt  that  I  must  go  straightway  upstairs  to  my 
room  and  write  and  tell  mother  that  she  was  the  very 

[77] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

sweetest  and  best  mother  an  ungrateful,  selfish  girl 
ever  possessed,  and  sprang  to  my  feet,  when — 

"Of  whom  are  you  thinking  so  earnestly,  Hazel?" 
said  Aunt  Menelophe,  taking  my  hand;  "and  where 
are  you  going  ?  Your  face  has  been  as  grave  as  a 
judge's  for  the  last  five  minutes,  and  you  are  very 
like  your  father.  You  sat  there  with  your  eyes  fixed  on 
the  fire,  and  I  could  see  all  your  thoughts  chasing  each 
other  across  your  face.  And  then  up  you  jumped — 
just  in  the  old  impulsive  way  of  John  Wycherley — 
bent  upon  doing  something  straightway  at  the  moment. 
What  was  it  ?  " 

"I  was  going  up  to  write  to  mother,"  I  said  awk- 
wardly. "Do  you  remember  mother,  Aunt  Menel- 
ophe ?  "  I  added  with  a  jerk. 

"Yes,"  said  Aunt  Menelophe.  "She  was  a  singu- 
larly honorable  woman,  and  very  unselfish.  She  might 
have  possessed  other  virtues  and  vices,  but  her  honesty 
was  so  pronounced  that  it  dwarfed  everything  else  in 
her  character,  and  she  believed  that  it  was  right  to  give 
the  tenth  part  of  her  income  to  the  poor.  Does  she 
still  believe  it?" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "and  does  it,  and  the  poor  are  not 
in  the  least  grateful." 

"They  never  are,"  pronounced  Aunt  Menelophe 
emphatically.  "They  are  a  lying,  drinking,  ungrate- 
ful, thriftless  set  of  impostors,  who  are  educated  free, 
hospitalled  free,  vaccinated  free;  who  have  no  rates 
and  taxes  to  pay,  no  income  tax,  no  appearances  to 

[78] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

keep  up,  and  who  spend — I  have  forgotten  how  much 
they  spend,  but  I  know  it's  something  colossal — per 
head  per  year  on  drink.  And  not  a  thing,  not  a  single 
thing  is  done  for  the  poor  little  hard-working  govern- 
ess, who  for  her  old  age  has  the  workhouse  staring  her 
in  the  face,  or — or  for  delicate,  decayed  gentlewomen, 
who  through  no  fault  of  their  own — owing  to  their 

numerical   superiority  over  men — have  not  married; 

», 

Aunt  Menelophe  stopped  for  breath,  and  I  broke 
in 

"Aunt  Menelophe,  what  you  are  saying  is  quite 
wrong  and  out  of  date.  I  am  a  great  Liberal  of  John 
Bright's  and  Gladstone's  following,  and  a  Free  Trad- 
er." (I  swelled  with  pride,  though  I  didn't  know  what 
it  meant.  Father  had  told  me  I  must  be  one,  and  I 
always  intended  obeying  him.)  "Reform  and  Progress 
are  our  two  great  watchwords.  I  cannot  agree  with 
what  you  say.  Help  the  poor  little  governess,  but  do 
not  do  less  for  the  workingman.  The  workingman 
is  the  backbone  of  our  great  empire,  and  he  must  be 
fed  and  educated  and  physicked." 

I  sat  down,  and  felt  that  if  I  had  been  a  man  I 
should  have  been  a  great  politician  and  probably  an 
orator;  and  all  Aunt  Menelophe  did  was  to  break 
into  fits  of  laughter. 

"Child,"  she  cried,  "you  are  a  treat!"  Then  she 
went  off  into  more  fits,  and  I  was  just  trying  to  decide 
whether  I  would  be  annoyed  or  pleased,  when  a  young, 

[79] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

stoopy  man  walked  into  the  room  and  crossed  to  the 
bookcase  without  seeing  me.  Aunt  Menelophe,  still 
chuckling,  said,  "  Hazel,  this  is  your  Cousin  Butterby. 
Butterby,  come  and  speak  to  your  step-cousin,  Miss 
Hazel  Wycherley,  who  is  a  great  Liberal  and  Free 
Trader." 

Butterby  came  very  close  to  me,  and  peered  into  my 
face  as  though  he  half  expected  to  find  a  new  kind  of 
moth.  He  wears  glasses,  and  his  hair  is  endy. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  "  said  he. 

And  when  I  had  given  him  the  desired  information 
he  stood  first  on  one  foot  and  then  on  the  other,  and 
looked  exceedingly  unhappy.  Then  an  inspiration 
came. 

"  Are  you  interested  in  entomology,  or  have  you  any 
special  hobby?" 

"Yes,"  I  replied  gravely;  "I  am  fond  of  crochet 
work,  and  have  made  a  lot  of  antimacassars." 

He  regarded  me  thoughtfully  for  a  moment,  and 
then  with  a  sigh  left  the  room. 

"Poor  Butterby,"  said  Aunt  Menelophe;  "he  is 
very  eccentric,  but  has  a  good  heart.  I  never  could 
understand  how  he  came  to  be  my  child." 

And  she,  too,  sighed  heavily,  and  then  sent  me  to 
my  room,  where  I  wrote  a  letter  to  mother  four  pages 
long. 


[80] 


CHAPTER  VII 

/  Receive  a  Letter  from  Mother  and  Some  Good  Advice 
on  Dress  from  Aunt  Menelophe 

I  HAVE  been  here  a  fortnight,  and  the  days  have 
simply  flown.  Aunt  Menelophe  is  a  perfect  pet. 
And  the  old  house — with  its  rambling  corridors 
and  wide  stone  staircase  and  twenty-two  bedrooms — 
is  simply  delightful.  And  when  you  are  in  the  large 
old  garden  and  shady  avenue  it  is  hard  to  believe  you 
are  within  a  stone's-throw  of  the  Potteries. 

With  the  Potteries  I  have  fallen  in  love.  They  are 
ugly  and  smoky  and  filthy,  but  they  fascinate  me. 
When  the  gentle  hand  of  night  has  cast  a  darkness 
over  "the  five  towns"  and  covered  up  the  squalor,  I 
love  to  gaze  at  the  lurid,  bright  eyes  of  the  furnaces, 
the  fires  of  which  are  never  allowed  to  die  out.  They 
seem  to  gleam  and  wink  at  you  from  the  darkness,  and 
make  you  think  of  the  infernal  regions  and  Mephis- 
topheles  and  the  river  Styx,  and  all  sorts  of  shudder- 
ingly  awful  things.  And  I  shiver  over  the  poor  man 
who  was  accidentally  shut  up  in  one  of  the  big  ovens 
and  baked  with  the  china. 

Aunt  Menelophe  and  I  go  somewhere  every  day  in 
6  [81] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

the  carriage.  We  have  "done"  Trentham  and  In- 
gestre,  which  are  lovely;  and  one  day  we  went  to 
Rudyard  Lake,  where  Kipling  was  born.  I  feel  tre- 
mendously braced-up  for  the  change,  and  regard  with 
equanimity  the  meeting  of  that  man. 

I  had  a  letter  from  mother  this  morning.  They  are 
having  an  autumn  cleaning,  and  have  seen  Mr.  Inder- 
wick  twice.  They  called  on  him  the  day  after  I  left. 
Personally,  I  think  it  is  a  little  forward  for  two  women 
— one  a  widow  and  the  other  a  spinster — to  go  calling 
on  a  bachelor;  and  at  least  they  might  have  waited  till 
my  return — not  that  I  should  have  thought  of  calling 
with  them,  but,  well,  I  should  have  been  there  to  look 
after  the  house,  and  restrict  the  servants  in  their  gos- 
siping. Mother  says 

"We  were  pleased  to  have  your  long,  interesting 
letter,  in  which  you  made  two  spelling  mistakes. 
Walnut  is  spelled  with  one  1  and  parallel  with  two. 
Your  composition  is  so  good  that  it  seems  a  pity  you 
cannot  overcome  your  weakness  in  spelling. 

"We  have  seized  the  opportunity  during  your  ab- 
sence to  have  the  autumn  cleaning  done.  Sammy, 
Rose,  Elizabeth,  and  old  Williams  are  engaged  in  shak- 
ing the  carpets,  and  I  got  in  a  barrel  of  beer  for  the 
occasion.  Williams  is  such  an  excellent  worker  that, 
though  I  greatly  disapprove  of  his  craving  for  beer,  I 
am  obliged  to  yield  to  it,  otherwise  I  know  he  would 
not  beat  properly. 

"  The  pickled  walnuts  have  turned  out  well.  Angela 
[82] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

is  now  engaged  on  eschalots,  and  when  they  are 
finished  she  will  begin  the  cauliflowers  and  gherkins. 

"She  insists  upon  all  the  cornices  and  picture-rails 
being  lightly  washed  over  with  vinegar  to-morrow, 
which  I  think  is  a  little  unnecessary,  as  they  were  done 
so  recently.  But  she  says  there  will  be  fly-marks  upon 
them,  and  she  may  be  right. 

"It  appears  somewhat  unseemly  to  me  that  your 
Aunt  Menelophe  should  not  wear  caps  at  her  time  of 
life.  I  began  them  ten  years  ago,  and  she  is  twelve 
years  my  senior.  However,  she  was  always  rather 
outre  in  her  style  of  dressing  her  hair.  She  would  not 
part  it  down  the  middle,  neither  would  she  wear  a 
comb,  which  I  remember  was  much  commented  upon. 

"  My  accounts  have  been  worrying  me  a  little.  Some 
new  sort  of  tax  paper  has  come  in.  The  money  will  go 
to  the  schools.  I  do  not  grudge  it  at  all ;  but  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  know  under  which  column  in  the  debit  account 
to  place  it;  and  it  also  means  another  tin  box  to  be 
kept,  and  the  lock-up  drawer  is  already  full  to  the 
bursting-point. 

"Your  sister  and  I  called  upon  Mr.  Inderwick  yes- 
terday. We  had  heard  that  Mrs.  Gates  and  several  of 
the  residents  intended  doing  so  this  week,  so  Angela 
said  we  would  be  first  in  the  field.  Why,  I  don't  know; 
but  she  seemed  to  wish  it,  so  I  consented.  I  wore  my 
new  winter  bonnet,  which  was  inclined  to  slip  a  little 
to  the  back  of  my  head,  giving  me  a  somewhat  jaunty 
air,  so  I  must  have  the  shape  altered.  Although  it  had 
struck  four  o'clock  when  we  called,  the  maidservant 
was  not  dressed,  which  we  thought  disgraceful.  She 

[83] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

had  on  her  dirty,  coarse  apron  and  print  dress  and  no 
cap,  and  I  reflected  upon  Rose's  appearance  with 
pleasure.  When  we  asked  if  Mr.  Inderwick  were  at 
home  she  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  led  us  to  a 
bare  room — I  mean  it  contained  very  little  furniture — 
where  Mr.  Inderwick  stood  in  his  shirt-sleeves  putting 
up  a  bookcase.  He  did  not  seem  in  the  least  discon- 
certed, which  I  thought  showed  good  breeding,  and  he 
gave  us  a  very  kind  welcome.  After  asking  us  to  sit 
down,  and  not  observing  there  were  no  chairs  upon 
which  to  sit,  he  asked  me  what  I  thought  of  his  new 
bookcase.  Privately  I  thought  it  was  extremely  ugly; 
it  was  so  high  and  ran  round  the  entire  room,  so  I  said 
it  appeared  commodious.  He  laughed  and  said  it  was 
made  of  solid  oak.  He  appeared  very  proud  of  it,  and 
kept  forgetting  we  were  there.  When  we  made  a  move 
to  go  he  said  we  must  have  some  tea,  and  when  we  de- 
clined and  said  we  were  afraid  our  call  had  been  a  little 
premature,  he  said  *  nonsense '  in  such  a  loud  tone  that 
it  quite  startled  us.  He  took  us  to  another  room, 
where  presently  an  old  woman — Mrs.  Egerton — 
brought  in  tea.  She  seemed  a  respectable  sort  of 
person.  He  forgot  to  give  me  any  cream  and  Angela 
sugar,  and  when  we  passed  up  our  cups  he  gave  me 
the  sugar  and  Angela  the  cream,  but  we  did  not  like  to 
draw  his  attention  to  the  fact.  Just  as  we  were  leaving 
he  suddenly  said,  'Where  is  Miss  Hazel?'  and  when 
I  told  him,  he  asked  how  long  you  would  be  away. 
Angela  says  she  doesn't  think  it's  good  form  to  ask 
such  abrupt  questions.  But  probably  he  has  lived  a 
good  deal  alone,  and  so  missed  the  refining  influence  of 

[84] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

women.  He  has  a  cultured  voice  and  a  singularly  fine 
appearance,  but  his  manners  are  not  polished.  He  sat 
for  quite  half  an  hour  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  then 
when  he  became  cognizant  of  this  I  will  give  him 
credit  that  he  seemed  quite  overcome  and  hastened  out 
of  the  room  for  his  coat,  which  had  a  big  paint-mark 
on  the  sleeve.  He  said  he  hoped  to  have  the  pleasure 
of  returning  our  call  at  an  early  date.  Perhaps  you 
will  be  at  home  then.  It  seems  funny  you  should 
have  not  yet  met,  when  you  were  such  friends  some 
years  ago.  Angela  desires  her  love,  and 

"I  remain 

"YOUR   AFFECTIONATE   MOTHER." 

I  went  down  to  breakfast  feeling  thoroughly  annoyed. 
If  the  rest  of  Heatherland  should  gush  and  run  after 
this  man,  why  should  mother  and  Angela  do  the  same  ? 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  said  Aunt  Menelophe. 

She  has  the  eye  of  a  hawk  and  the  discernment  of  a 
judge. 

"  Nothing,"  I  replied. 

"You  don't  lie  well,"  said  she.  "People  with  blue 
eyes  are  rarely  good  fibbers.  Have  some  coffee,  and 
then  tell  me  all  about  it." 

And  I  told  her.  And  what  I  kept  back  she  found 
out  by  ferreting. 

"  You  acted  like  a  little  fool,"  said  she. 

"Yes,"  I  replied.    "Rub  it  in." 

She  laughed. 

"Poor  little  girl,"  and  she  laid  her  hand  on  mine. 

[85] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"But  don't  attach  too  much  importance  to  it.  Go 
back  and  be  natural,  and  speak  to  him  the  next  time 
you  meet.  If  he  be  a  decent  man — he  sounds  nice — 
he  won't  let  you  feel  that  he  once  saw  you  at  a  disad- 
vantage, and  the  inside  of  your  character  instead  of 
your  out."  (I  winced.)  "Men  are  really  very  chival- 
rous to  women.  I  often  wonder  how  they  put  up  with 
our  petty  ways,"  and  she  sighed. 

"I  have  never  known  any  men,"  I  remarked;  "only 
father  and  Sammy  and  Frederick  Moss." 

"No,"  said  she,  "so  I  should  imagine." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  them  ?  "  I  ventured. 

"As  a  class,"  said  Aunt  Menelophe,  "men  are 
better  than  women,  with  larger  minds,  and  more  gen- 
erous instincts.  But  women  are  decidedly  more 
interesting." 

I  opened  my  mouth  wide  at  such  a  proposition. 

"  Women  more  interesting  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  my  aunt,  "a  woman  is  the  most  inter- 
esting, complex,  unexpected  sort  of  creature  God  has 
created.  She  has  a  weakish  body,  an  intellect  not  too 
brilliant,  sound  judgment,  a  great  capacity  for  imbib- 
ing " — I  giggled,  and  Aunt  Menelophe  fixed  me  sternly 
— "I  mean  great  receptive  powers,  no  constructive 
ability,  a  character  with  one  hundred  and  fifty  sides  to 
it,  and  her  moods  and  whims  are  beyond  counting,  for 
they  are  legion." 

"I  see,"  I  remarked  meekly,  and  handed  some 
bacon  to  Butterby,  who  was  peering  round  the  table 

[86] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

for  jam.  And  he  ate  it  in  a  dream,  making  his  third 
helping. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  women,  Butterby  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Eh  ?  I  ?  Why,  I  think  women  are  mostly  fools," 
he  said,  with  the  greatest  show  of  promptitude  I  have 
yet  seen  him  display.  And  he  then  returned  to  the 
insect  book  he  was  reading. 

I  don't  think  I  care  overmuch  for  Butterby,  and 
Dick  I  have  scarcely  seen.  He  is  engaged.  His 
fiancee  is  sweetly  pretty  and  amiable,  and  her  voice 
is  so  gentle  that  when  she  speaks  you  feel  as  though 
you  were  in  church.  They  are  a  very  devoted  couple, 
and  Aunt  Menelophe  says  she  is  the  type  of  woman 
who  will  have  fifteen  children  and  sob  her  eyes  out 
the  first  evening  her  husband  is  late  home. 

Aunt  Menelophe  is  quite  the  nicest  and  cleverest 
and  most  beautiful  of  the  lot.  She  has  a  sharp  tongue, 
which  only  conceals  the  kindest,  biggest  heart.  She 
is  always  helping  "lame  dogs  over  stiles,"  and  has 
given  me  the  loveliest  pale  blue,  soft  beaver  hat,  with 
a  glorious  long  black  feather,  and  a  creamy,  fluffy,  silk 
tea-gown.  I  picture  myself  floating  round  Heather- 
land  in  a  tea-gown,  and  chuckle.  The  entire  parish 
would  climb  on  front  seats  to  stare  at  me,  and  Angela 
would  have  a  fit  on  the  spot.  Aunt  Menelophe  says 
I  should  live  in  blue.  She  tells  me  this  quite  once  a 
day. 

"  Dress  to  the  color  of  your  eyes  and  hair,"  said  she, 
when  I  was  trying  on  the  hat  at  Rookfield's  in  Stafford. 

[87] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"  It  is  a  safe  rule  to  go  by.  You  look  dreadful  in  that 
pink." 

It  was  the  shrimpy  frock. 

"I  see.  And  as  my  eyes  are  blue  and  my  hair  is 
nearly  black,  I  suppose  a  blue  and  black  check  would 
do  for  my  new  winter  costume — a  nice  big  check?" 
said  I. 

Aunt  Menelophe  simply  snorted. 

"  Checks  were  an  invention — not]  of  the  devil,  but  of 
some  grasping,  economical  cloth  manufacturer  who 
wanted  to  use  up  his  odds  and  ends  of  wool.  He 
should  have  been  strung  up.  Imagine  a  woman  in 
ancient  Greece  wearing  a  check  chess-board  robe  with 
a  girdle  round  it !  And  people  say  we  have  progressed ! 
No,  never  wear  checks  if  you  desire  to  be  known  as 
a  well-dressed  woman.  Cultivate  flowing  lines,  sim- 
plicity in  form,  and  really  good  colors.  Don't  heap 
things  on  your  person;  don't  look  like  an  escaped 
bazaar.  When  I  see  women  dangling  chains  and 
trinkets  and  chatelaines  and  ribbons  and  velvets,  and 
dabbing  rosettes  and  bows  and  ruchings  on  every  spare 
place,  I  yearn  to  pluck  them  as  you  would  a  fowl.  And 
when  you  get  to  my  age  wear  soft  tones  of  gray.  Gray 
blends  and  harmonizes  with  faded  faces  and  eyes.  It 
softens  the  lines  and  gives  an  effect  of  mellowness. 
Whatever  women  may  say  to  you,  don't  pass  your 
entire  existence  in  black.  Black  should  be  an  elderly 
woman's  bugbear.  It  accentuates  wrinkles  and  sal- 
lowness  and  flabby  chins.  It  shows  up  sunken  cheeks 

[88] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

and  knobbly  jaw-bones,  and  forms  a  striking  back- 
ground for  the  stout  chin  of  the  three-decker  character. 
But  put  her  in  soft  mauves  and  grays,  with  rich,  old, 
champagne-colored  lace  at  her  throat,  and  you  will 
forget  she  is  old.  Her  younger  women  friends  will  be 
bound  to  say  she  dresses  in  much  too  juvenile  a  style 
and  is  aping  to  be  young.  There  has  scarcely  been  a 
woman  in  this  world  who  has  not  said  that  some  other 
woman  dresses  too  young.  It  is  a  way  she  has." 

Then  Aunt  Menelophe  floated,  in  an  atmosphere  of 
soft,  gray  cloth  and  chinchilla  and  velvet,  crowned  by 
her  lovely  gray  hair,  to  the  waiting  cab,  and  as  she  said 
"  The  station,  driver,"  I  felt  proud  to  belong  to  her. 

"What  a  time  it  must  have  taken  you  to  learn  all 
this,  Aunt  Menelophe ! "  I  remarked. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  with  a  little  sigh,  "it  has.  I  am 
sixty-five.  And  the  trouble  is  that  just  as  your  accu- 
mulated experience  and  knowledge  are  becoming  use- 
ful to  you,  somebody  comes  along  and  measures  you 
for  your  coffin.  Then  there  is  a  funeral,  flowers  on 
your  grave  for  about  five  anniversaries,  and  then  you 
are  forgotten.  Let  me  see,  I  didn't  show  you  Stafford, 
did  I  ?  But  there  is  nothing  to  show.  Stafford  is  noted 
for  boots,  and  you  wouldn't  want  to  see  boots,  would 
you  ?  And  I  fancy  Izaak  Walton  did  something  here 
once,  but  I  can't  remember  what  it  was  till  we  have 
had  some  tea.  I  ordered  tea  to  be  ready  at  the  works ; 
at  least,  I  told  Butterby  to  order  it.  I  arranged  with  a 
confectioner  always  to  send  in  tea  to  the  office  when  I 

[89] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

am  there.  You  see,"  she  went  on,  "Butterby  is  sup- 
posed to  explain  things  to  visitors,  but  he  never  does. 
In  fact,  he  generally  wanders  off  when  we  are  about 
half-way  through,  and  so  7  have  to  instruct  them  in  the 
making  of  china,  and  must  have  tea  to  brace  me  up. 
What  I  don't  know  about  the  manufacture  I  make  up, 
and  it's  most  interesting  to  see  their  faces.  The  women 
always  sigh  over  the  dippers.  They  think  it  is  the  right 
and  humane  thing  to  do.  They  have  read  somewhere 
that  a  dipper's  work  is  unhealthy  and  dangerous,  and 
even  shortens  life;  and  they  always  seem  to  be  under 
the  impression  that  a  dipper  will  turn  into  a  corpse 
before  their  eyes.  They  say  sympathetic  things  and 
talk  of  the  dangers  of  glass-blowing  and  match-making 
all  in  the  same  breath.  And  when  I  say,  'My  dear 
ladies,  if  they  die  it  is  generally  their  own  faults,  through 
not  observing  the  precautions  laid  down  for  them,'  they 
think  I  am  very  heartless  and  a  brute.  Really,  I  am 
awfully  sorry  for  some  of  the  working  people  of  Eng- 
land— not  so  much  for  the  men  as  for  the  women. 
What  a  grind  some  of  the  women  have !  One  round  of 
babies  and  incessant  hard  work  which  never  ends.  A 
man  comes  in  at  the  end  of  the  day;  he  is  tired,  but  his 
work  is  finished.  The  wife  is  tired,  too,  only  more  so; 
but  she  is  not  finished,  and  never  will  be.  No  wonder 
women  take  to  drink.  I  should  too — I  should  soak  in 
it!" 

As  Aunt  Menelophe  gives  vent  to  this  awful  state- 
ment her  face  is  wrinkled  up  in  the  kindest,  sweetest 

[90] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

smile  imaginable,  and  one  could  picture  her  doing 
many  kind  deeds  for  those  women  and  babies. 

"Dear  me,"  she  cried  as  we  were  driving  from  the 
station  to  the  works,  "we  nearly  ran  over  Butterby. 
That  boy  gives  me  such  shocks.  He  caused  me  to 
break  one  of  the  old  Wedgwood  cups  one  day  by 
suddenly  grabbing  at  my  arm  with  great  violence, 
because  he  imagined  there  was  some  sort  of  rare  but- 
terfly seated  on  my  sleeve.  It  turned  out  to  be  a  bit  of 
silk.  I  was  very  angry,  and  ordered  some  stronger 
glasses  for  him.  I  wonder  what  he  is  doing  loitering  in 
the  road  ?  Probably  in  search  of  some  insect.  And  I 
told  him  we  should  be  there  at  four.  Perhaps  he  has 
been  called  out  on  some  special  business,  and  will  turn 
up  later." 

"  He  did  not  look  like  business,"  I  ventured. 

"  No,"  snapped  Aunt  Menelophe,  "  he  looked  like  a 
tramp  who  is  afraid  he  may  find  work."  Then  she 
closed  her  lips  tightly  and  stared  at  the  landscape, 
which  consisted  of  chimneys,  furnaces,  and  dirt. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  works  there  was  no  Butterby 
and  no  tea.  I  looked  fearfully  at  Aunt  Menelophe, 
and  at  the  sight  of  her  the  small  clerk  in  the  office 
shrivelled  up. 

"Stop  the  cab,"  she  said  with  composure,  and  the 
clerk  and  I  collided  with  violence  at  the  door  and 
yelled  "Hi!"  The  cab  "hied,"  and  we  drove  home. 

"I  will  try  and  get  up  sufficient  energy  to  att^cl; 
them  another  day,"  she  said  when  we  were  seated  ill 

[91] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

the  morning-room  waiting  for  tea.  "In  the  mean 
time  I  will  lend  you  a  book  on  the  manufacture  of 
Staffordshire  china,  and  Josiah  Wedgwood.  It  will 
teach  you  a  good  deal,  and  should  we  never  get  to 
the  works  it  won't  matter  so  much.  I  never  talked 
so  much  in  my  life  before  four  o'clock,  and  I  am  per- 
fectly exhausted."  Then  she  fell  back  in  her  armchair 
and  lay  with  closed  eyes  till  James  appeared  with  the 
tea. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  Dinner  Party,  Followed  by  My  Seeing  the  Ghost 

LAST  evening  Aunt  Menelophe  gave  a  dinner  party, 
and  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  I  saw  the 
ghost.     One  on  the  top  of  the  other  has  been 
too  much  for  me,  for  I  feel  a  perfect  wreck,  and  have 
great,  black    rims    under   my   eyes.     When   Parkins 
brought  me  my  morning  tea  I  asked  her  for  some 
soda-water  instead.     She  seemed  very  surprised,  and  I 
said — 

"Parkins,  you  would  want  soda-water  if  you  had  a 
thirst  like  mine.  My  mouth  feels  like  a  sawdust  bin." 

At  breakfast,  after  we  had  finished  discussing  the 
ghost  and  the  dinner,  I  remarked,  tentatively,  that  I 
had  felt  very  plain  the  previous  evening,  and  that  I  did 
not  think  the  new  gown  suited  me.  I  looked  inter- 
rogatively at  Aunt  Menelophe. 

"  You  look  plainer  this  morning,"  she  said. 

It  was  not  what  I  had  expected,  and  I  felt  annoyed. 
How  could  any  one  look  their  best  after  such  an  awful 
night  and  such  a  shock  to  the  system  ? 

"You  had  better  go  to  your  room  and  lie  down," 
Aunt  Menelophe  remarked  after  lunch,  "and  I  will 
send  up  your  tea." 

[93] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

I  accepted  with  alacrity.  I  have  had  a  most  delicious 
sleep,  and  feel  ready  for  anything.  I  have  a  cosy  fire, 
and  am  seated  in  a  low  chair  in  my  new  tea-gown,  and 
feel  exactly  like  a  heroine  in  a  novel.  I  look  scornfully 
at  my  old,  red  dressing-gown  hanging  up  behind  the 
door;  I  note  with  disdain  its  embroidered,  old-fash- 
ioned, scalloped  frills.  I  scalloped  them  myself  and 
used  a  penny  to  draw  out  the  design,  and  spent  the 
last  of  my  pocket-money  on  silk  for  the  button -holing. 
Now  I  don't  like  scallops.  I  prefer  soft,  fluffety,  chiffon 
frills  billowing  up  all  round  my  neck,  and  an  empire 
train.  I  am  tired  of  old-fashioned,  made-to-wear-for- 
ever  clothes. 

To-morrow  I  am  going  home,  and  must  wear  my 
old,  brown,  stuff  dress  once  more.  I  can  quite  see  it 
will  never  wear  out,  so  one  day  I  shall  upset  a  bottle 
of  ink  down  it,  and  not  let  mother  and  Angela  see  it  till 
it  is  dry.  It  will  be  then  too  late  for  Angela  to  get  out 
the  stain  with  milk,  so  it  will  be  consigned  to  the 
rag-bag. 

I  feel  in  the  mood  to-day  to  marry  a  prince.  Why 
can't  I  meet  a  Russian  prince,  like  a  girl  in  a  novel, 
who  will  shower  sables,  and  white  cloth  gowns  trimmed 
with  ermine,  and  diamonds  upon  me  ?  Perhaps  I  am 
not  innocent  or  religious  enough.  I  couldn't  sit  for 
hours  with  large  blue,  dreamy  eyes,  or  kneel  before  a 
little  altar  in  my  bedroom,  or  babble  to  the  night  at 
my  open  window.  And  I  couldn't  be  always  blushing. 
It  must  be  so  trying  for  a  "wave  of  scarlet  to  mantle 

[94] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

your  cheek  and  brow"  on  the  slightest  provocation, 
and  for  your  bosom  to  keep  heaving  and  your  eyes 
flashing.  No,  I  am  afraid  a  Russian  prince  wouldn't 
care  about  me. 

A  man  last  night  seemed  a  little  interested  in  me, 
but  I  felt  a  little  nervous  of  him,  for  some  reason; 
and  of  course  we  shall  never  meet  again.  He  is  only 
visiting  down  here.  He  lives  in  London,  and  London 
is  not  a  place  I  haunt. 

But  I  must  begin  at  the  beginning.  The  dinner  was 
gorgeous.  I  have  forgotten  how  many  courses,  but 
they  all  seemed  to  be  served  topsy-turvy,  and  in  the 
order  the  servants  liked.  For  instance,  we  had  hot 
shrimps  rolled  up  in  white  paper  after  the  sweets,  which 
seemed  funny.  Anchovies  at  one  end  of  the  dinner 
and  shrimps  at  the  other!  Perhaps  Aunt  Menelophe 
thought  they  would  fight  inside  if  they  were  served  too 
near  together. 

The  flowers  were  exquisite,  and  lovely,  scarlet  Vir- 
ginian creeper  leaves  floated  about  in  the  finger  bowls, 
and  long  sprays  of  it  crawled  about  the  table  and  kept 
getting  mixed  up  in  things.  I  saw  a  man  drinking 
claret  with  a  spray  hanging  from  his  moustache.  It 
was  so  funny  the  way  he  dashed  it  from  him,  as  though 
he  were  very  angry  with  it.  The  finger  bowls  were 
solid  silver,  and  silver  cupids  with  chubby  faces  held 
the  chrysanthemums. 

The  man  who  took  me  in  to  dinner  rather  alarmed 
me  at  first,  but  I  presently  found  he  was  much  more 

[95] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

interested  in  his  food  than  in  me,  and  he  snored  heavily 
as  he  ate.  I  began  to  feel  a  little  annoyed,  but  perhaps 
it  was  my  fault.  I  noticed  all  the  other  women  were 
chattering  away  like  jays  and  sending  forth  peals  of 
laughter,  and  the  men  were  guffawing.  Why  didn't 
my  man  guffaw  ?  I  racked  my  brains  for  something  to 
say,  but  nothing  came.  I  could  only  think  of  idiotic 
questions,  such  as:  "Do  you  like  grouse?  Are  you 
fond  of  Dickens?  Are  you  married?  Do  you  belong 
to  ^the  Church  of  England  ? "  None  of  them  seemed 
suitable,  and  all  much  too  familiar  to  put  to  a  perfect 
stranger. 

Presently  I  saw  Aunt  Menelophe's  eye  upon  me. 
I  could  see  she  thought  me  dull.  I  felt  desperate. 

"Do  you  shoot?"  I  flung  it  at  him  suddenly,  and 
he  started. 

"Eh,  what's  that  you  say?"  and  he  put  down  his 
knife  and  fork. 

"  Do  you  shoot  ?  "  I  repeated  in  a  louder  voice. 

"  Do  what  ?  "  and  he  inclined  his  right  ear  to  me. 

"He's  deaf,"  the  man  on  my  right  whispered. 

"  Do  you  shoot  ?  "  I  shouted  at  the  top  of  my  voice, 
my  cheeks  scarlet,  and  conscious  that  the  whole  table 
was  listening. 

"  Shoot  what  ?  "  said  this  great,  deaf,  prize  idiot. 

I  heard  a  titter. 

"Cats!"  I  said  with  sudden,  deadly  calmness,  and 
there  was  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"Ha!" 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

He  had  heard  at  last,  and  was  very  pleased  with 
himself,  and  wasn't  going  to  let  the  subject  drop.  He 
was  also  a  little  mystified.  He  was  a  detective  kind  of 
man,  a  man  who  runs  things  to  earth,  and  I  would 
willingly  have  sent  a  shot  through  him. 

"Do  I  shoot  cats?"  said  he.  "Why,  what  sort  of 
cats?" 

"  Manx,"  I  said  with  illumination. 

I  felt  he  must  be  humored.  Then  he  appeared  to 
think  I  had  said  something  extremely  funny,  and  went 
off  into  fits  of  laughter,  and  laughed  and  spluttered 
till  he  choked. 

Why  had  Aunt  Menelophe  sent  me  in  with  such  a 
creature?  And  the  man  to  my  right  looked  so  inter- 
esting. I  gave  a  little  sigh,  and  turning  to  glance  at 
him,  our  eyes  met.  He  smiled,  and  showed  the  whitest 
set  of  teeth  imaginable. 

"It's  awfully  trying,  shouting  at  a  person  before  a 
whole  dinner-table,"  said  he  sympathetically. 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  still  feeling  hot;  "I  never  felt 
such  a  fool  in  my  life.  I  am  sorry  for  deaf  people, 
but  they  are  so  persistent." 

Then  he  turned  half  his  back  on  his  partner,  and  I 
turned  the  whole  of  mine  on  mine — which  was  rude 
of  me,  but  pardonable,  I  thought,  under  the  circum- 
stances— and  we  fell  to  talking.  I  fancy  he  enjoyed 
himself,  and  I  think  I  must  have  enjoyed  myself,  for  I 
became  oblivious  to  my  surroundings,  till  unexpectedly 
he  struck  a  jarring  note.  He  had  been  talking  of  art, 
7  [97] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

of  music,  of  literature,  of  science — of  a  thousand  and 
one  things  of  which  I  had  never  even  heard,  and  of 
which  he  appeared  to  think  I  knew  as  much  as  he.  I 
hate  to  assume  a  knowledge  of  a  subject — for  one 
thing,  you  never  know  when  you  will  be  found  out ;  for 
another,  it  doesn't  seem  aboveboard,  and  Aunt  Menel- 
ophe  says  women  are  so  deceitful — so  suddenly  I  ob- 
served :  "  I  am  afraid  I  don't  understand  or  appreciate 
half  of  what  you  are  saying,  though  I  am  vastly  inter- 
ested. But  I  am  wofully  ignorant.  I  was  educated  at 
home  by  a  governess,  and  I  have  lived  in  a  village,  with 
women,  the  whole  of  my  life." 

It  was  a  relief  to  get  it  out,  and  when  he  laughed  softly 
and  said,  "How  delightfully  refreshing  to  meet  such 
candor!  My  instinct  has  not  played  me  false;  I  knew 
you  were  a  little  country  girl  when  you  were  so  upset  by 
your  partner's  deafness.  You  became  so  flushed  and 
agitated  that  I  said  to  myself,  'This  girl  is  from  the 
country;  she  is  fresh  and  worth  cultivating.'"  I  felt 
piqued  and  annoyed.  So  he  had  been  drawing  me  out ! 
He  had  been  enjoying  my  gaitcheries!  He  had  been 
sounding  the  depths  of  my  ignorance ! 

"  And  so  you  have  been  cultivating  me  ?  You  have 
cast  the  pearls  of  your  wisdom  at  the  feet  of  a  'little 
country  girl ! '  How  extremely  kind  of  you !  I  feel  like 
Esther  must  have  felt  when  the  sceptre  was  extended 
to  her,  and  am  indeed  grateful." 

I  laughed,  but,  try  as  I  would,  I  could  not  keep  a 
note  of  hurt  anger  from  my  voice,  and  when  Aunt 

[98] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

Menelophe  rose  at  that  moment  I  fairly  bolted  from 
the  room. 

When  the  men  joined  us  later  he  walked  across  the 
room  negligently  and  dropped  into  a  seat  beside  me. 

"  That  was  a  nasty  cut,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  think  I 
deserved  it." 

"  Don't  you  ?  "  I  replied,  beginning  to  bristle.  "  Well, 
put  it  down  to  the  want  of  discrimination  on  the  part 
of  a  village  miss." 

"I  am  very  sorry  if  I  have  offended  you  by  what  I 
said.  I  did  not  mean  to  be  patronizing.  I  always  say 
exactly  what  I  think,  and  you  struck  me  as  being  quite 
the  freshest  and  most  straightforward  girl  I  had  met 
for  many  a  long  month.  It  did  not  seem  to  me  a 
breach  of  good  manners  to  tell  you  so." 

I  felt  somewhat  mollified. 

"  But  I  am  not  straightforward." 

"  Well,  nobody  is,"  he  said  reassuringly. 

"Yes,  mother  is,"  I  said  quickly;  and  then  I  could 
have  bitten  my  tongue  out,  for  he  began  to  laugh 
again  gently. 

"  Who  is  mother  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Look  here,"  I  replied,  my  temper  again  rising, 
"if  we  are  to  continue  our  conversation  please  do  not 
laugh  at  every  word  I  utter  in  that  quizzical,  amused 
sort  of  way.  Perhaps  you  do  not  mean  it  as  such, 
perhaps  I  am  unduly  sensitive,  but  all  the  time  I  feel 
you  are  making  fun  of  me,  and  I  don't  like  it." 

He  sat  up,  and  became  grave  at  once. 
[99] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said  gently.  "  I  have  no  desire  to 
make  fun  of  you.  You  must  be  very  sensitive,  as  you 
say.  We  have  only  known  each  other  three-quarters 
of  an  hour,  and  have  already  had  two  quarrels  or  mis- 
understandings. I  am  not  usually  considered  pugilis- 
tic, and  so " 

"  And  so  it  must  be  my  fault,"  I  interrupted.  "  Well, 
I  won't  be  touchy  any  more,  and  you  can  stay  and  talk 
to  me  if  you  like." 

"  Thanks,"  he  said  dryly,  and  then  we  both  laughed. 

He  wasn't  in  the  least  patronizing  again,  and  I  told 
him  all  about  Heatherland  and  mother,  and  Angela 
and  Sammy,  in  all  of  which  he  expressed  himself  greatly 
interested.  But  I  could  not  get  away  from  the  im- 
pression that  he  was  weighing  me  up  and  drawing  me 
out  and  examining  me  as  Butterby  does  his  moths.  I 
was  rather  glad  when  the  evening  was  over.  He  never 
once  left  my  side,  and  I  wasn't  brave  enough  to  get  up 
and  deliberately  walk  away,  for  he  seemed  to  fascinate  me. 

"Well!"  said  Aunt  Menelophe,  when  she  came  to 
ray  room  to  bid  me  good-night,  "you  have  made  a 
conquest." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  deaf  man  ?  "  I  asked. 

"No,"  she  replied,  "I  don't.  You  were  extremely 
rude  to  him.  I  mean  Mr.  Escourt,  who  is  supposed  to 
be  brilliantly  clever — a  great  literary  light.  Writes 
something  on  everything.  Essayist,  reviewer,  leader- 
writer,  and  novelist,  I  believe.  Lives  in  London.  A 
great  friend  of  my  son  Wellesley.  Unmarried,  a  pro- 

[100] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

fessed  woman-hater,  and  £5,000  a  year.  He  is  useful 
at  parties,  but  7  don't  much  care  for  him." 

"  And  I  don't  like  him,"  I  agreed. 

"  How  do  you  behave,  then,  to  a  man  you  do  like  ? 
I  merely  ask  from  a  spirit  of  curiosity.  I  observed  you 
talked  to  Mr.  Escourt  the  entire  evening,"  said  Aunt 
Menelophe. 

"Aunt  Menelophe,"  I  replied,  "you  are  frequently 
untruthful,  and  not  exercising  a  good  influence  over 
me.  Good-night." 

"  Good-night,"  said  she,  and  went  out  of  the  room 
laughing. 

I  was  tired  and  excited,  and  was  a  long,  long  time 
in  getting  off  to  sleep.  My  feet  were  cold  and  my  head 
was  hot.  I  went  through  each  course  of  the  dinner  and 
every  item  of  Mr.  Escourt's  conversation.  How  well 
he  had  talked!  And  did  he  not  say  Poe's  The  Whirl- 
pool was  the  most  emotional  thing  that  had  ever  been 
written,  or  did  he  say  realistic  ?  Perhaps  it  was  Locks- 
ley  Hall  he  described  as  being  strongly  emotional. 
What  a  pity  to  have  forgotten.  But  what  did  it  matter  ? 

"Why,  it  was  Jack  and  the  Beanstalk,"  came  a 
voice. 

I  started,  and  there  were  the  lobster  salad  and  ice 
pudding  walking  down  the  room  hand-in-hand. 

"  He  didn't,"  I  contradicted,  feeling  annoyed. 

"He  did!  he  did!  he  did !"  they  shouted. 

Then  the  shrimps  began  to  untie  themselves  from 
the  paper;  and  the  cheese  straws,  with  pink  ribbon 

[101] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

sashes  round  their  waists,  capered  about  wildly;  and 
the  grouse  began  to  jump  over  chairs ;  and  champagne 
bottles,  dressed  in  white  serviettes,  waltzed  round  the 
room  with  the  sherries  and  ports.  And  then  they  all 
joined  hands  and,  bowing,  cried,  "We  will  now  sit 
upon  Miss  Hazel  Wycherley's  chest,"  and  before  I 
could  move  they  climbed  on  to  the  bed  and  swarmed 
over  me  and  pressed  me  flat — flatter  and  flatter.  I 
gasped,  I  tried  to  shriek  out,  I  panted,  I  labored  for 
breath,  I  was  suffocating,  I  rolled  in  agony,  I  was 
dying.  And  then,  with  one  terrific  effort,  I  pushed  and 
heaved,  and  shoved  and  strained,  and — woke  up.  I 
was  clutching  the  pillows  frantically,  my  forehead  was 
wet,  I  felt  as  though  I  had  just  emerged  from  a  big 
prize-fight,  when — horror  upon  horror! — something 
was  in  the  room.  I  sat  up  in  bed  wildly  straining  into 
the  darkness.  Something  moved !  A  scream  froze  on 
my  lips,  my  breath  came  quickly,  my  heart  stopped. 
It  was  the  ghost!  Something  hammered  in  my  brain, 
"It's  the  toad!  It's  the  toad!"  God!  how  could  I 
bear  the  horror  of  it  ?  Was  I  dreaming  ?  Was  I  mad  ? 
It  moved  nearer  and  nearer  and  nearer.  It  touched 
the  bed.  Slowly  it  worked  up  toward  me,  clawing  the 
air;  and,  with  one  frenzied  yell,  I  rose  up  in  bed  and 
grabbed — something  by  the  nose. 

"Damn  it!"  came  a  voice;  "what  the  devil  are  you 
doing,  Hazel?  Let  go."  For  I  was  holding  on  like 
grim  death  to  some  struggling  creature. 

"Oh,  Butterby!"  I  sobbed,  "is  it  you?    You  are 

[10-2] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

sure  you  are  not  a  toad.  You  are  quite  sure  you  are 
not  the  toad.  Oh,  dear  Butterby!  say  you  won't  turn 
into  a  toad  and  spit  at  me  ?  I  couldn't  bear  it.  Oh. ! 
oh !  oh !  I  was  never  so  terrified  in  my  life.  Oh,  But- 
terby !  how  could  you  ?  It  was  cruel  of  you.  It  was 
wicked.  The  shock  has  nearly  killed  me.  I  can  feel 
my  hair  turning  snow-white.  Oh,  Butterby,  the  hor- 
ror of  it !  How  could  you  ?  How  could  you  ?  "  I  was 
sobbing  bitterly,  and  great  tears  were  splashing  on  to 
the  bed. 

Butterby  did  not  reply  for  a  moment.  I  could  feel 
he  was  rubbing  his  injured  member,  and  I  cheered  up 
a  little.  I  must  have  hurt  him  badly. 

At  last  he  spoke. 

"Look  here,  Hazel,  I  am  beastly  sorry.  I  never 
meant  to  frighten  you.  I  completely  forgot  you  were 
sleeping  here.  It  is  years  since  this  room  was  occupied. 
I  keep  some  entomological  books  in  the  top  drawer  of 
the  chest  of  drawers."  (This  was  true,  for  I  had  seen 
them.)  "The  bookcase  in  the  library  is  overflowing, 
so  I  stuck  them  here,  as  I  have  no  room  in  my  quarters. 
Do  you  see  ?  " 

"Yes,"  I  replied  injuredly.  "But  I  can't  see  what 
that  has  to  do  with  your  wandering  in  here  in  the 
dead  of  night  and  frightening  me  into  blue  fits,  and 
causing  me  to  be  ill  for  months  from  shock." 

He  patted  my  arm  soothingly. 

"Don't  cry,  old  girl!    It  was  this  way.     I  couldnrt 

sleep.    I  think  it  was  the  lobster  and " 

[103] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"  Yes,"  I  interrupted.  "  It  was.  My  lobster  wouldn't 
sleep  either,  neither  would  the  shrimps;  but  I  didn't 
wander  round  the  house  and  play  ghosts,  and  scare 
people  to  death  and " 

"Wait  a  moment,"  said  he;  "let  me  finish.  Well, 
I  was  sick  of  lying  awake,  and  I  thought  I  would  read 
a  bit,  so  I  came  here  for  one  of  the  books ;  it  was  nearer 
than  going  downstairs.  Now  do  you  understand?" 

"  I  hear  what  you  say.  But  why  didn't  you  bring  a 
light  with  you  ?  It  is  not  usual  to  tramp  about  a  house 
in  the  pitch  dark,  is  it  ?  "  I  inquired  scathingly. 

"I  forgot.  That's  a  fact.  I  never  thought  of  it. 
There  was  a  low  light  on  the  landing  and  in  the  corri- 
dor, and  I  knew  the  geography  of  the  room  so  well  that 
I  thought  I  could  grope  my  way  to  the  chest  of  drawers 
without— 

"  Instead  of  which  you  lost  your  bearings  and  groped 
your  way  to  the  bed  and  half-killed  your  poor  step- 
cousin,"  said  I,  beginning  to  gulp  again.  "Now  go. 
Some  day  I'll  try  and  forgive  you,  but  I  can't  to-night. 
I  am  too  unnerved.  So  please  go  away,"  and  I  sobbed 
afresh. 

Butterby  stood  still  for  a  moment,  and  then,  groping 
his  way  to  the  door,  went  out  without  another  word. 
I  heard  him  fall  over  something  in  the  corridor,  which 
gave  me  some  small  satisfaction. 

"Idiot!"  I  said.  "Great  idiot!  I  wish  he  would 
turn  into  an  insect  himself,  and  then  I  would  tread 
on  him." 

[104] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

With  which  vindictive  expression  I  turned  over  in 
order  to  seek  sleep,  but  never  was  I  so  wide  awake  in 
my  life.  My  brain  seemed  on  fire  and  my  body  felt 
like  water.  Then  I  fell  to  laughing  weakly  as  I  pic- 
tured Butterby's  nose,  and  I  went  on  laughing  till  I 
cried  again,  and  then — a  knock  came  at  the  door,  and 
very  feebly  I  said  "  Come  in." 

"Some  new  development,"  I  thought.  "Perhaps 
this  is  the  goat  with  two  tails,"  and  I  raised  my  head, 
feebly  interested. 

"It's  only  I,  Hazel,"  and  again  a  shadowy  figure 
moved  toward  the  bed.  "I've  brought  you  a  rasp- 
berry tart,"  and  Butterby  thrust  a  large,  jammy  lump 
of  pastry  into  my  hand,  and  then  fled. 

A  raspberry  tart  when  my  mouth  was  like  a  lime- 
kiln !  Why  couldn't  he  have  brought  a  bucket  of  water 
into  which  I  could  thrust  my  head  ?  I  flung  the  tart 
to  the  other  end  of  the  room,  where  I  heard  it  squelch 
against  the  wall.  But  it  was  kind  of  Butterby — very 
kind.  He  was  not  such  a  bad  sort. 

When  I  related  my  tragic  story  to  Aunt  Menelophe 
this  morning  all  she  remarked  was — 

"And  you  say  that  Butterby  rapped  out  a  'damn.' 
I  didn't  know  the  boy  had  it  in  him." 

And  she  looked  as  pleased  as  if  he  had  just  received 
the  V.C. 


[105] 


CHAPTER  IX 

I  Return  Home  and  Exchange  Sentiments  with  Jerry 
on  Autumn 

ONCE  again  am  I  enswathed  in  my  old,  work- 
aday, brown  stuff  gown,  an  opportunity  not 
having  yet   arisen   in   which   to   throw  ink 
down  the  front  of  the  skirt.    The  silk  tea-gown  has 
been  consigned  to  a  cupboard  in  the  spare  room,  and 
covered  up  from  the  dust  with  an  old  nightgown. 

"  Perhaps  you  may  have  a  long  illness  at  some  future 
date,  and  then  you  could  wear  it  to  receive  visitors," 
said  mother  cheerfully. 

"I  should  cut  it  up  into  an  evening  dress,"  sug- 
gested Angela  still  more  cheerfully.  "  The  chiffon  frills 
would  trim  the  neck  of  the  bodice  nicely." 

"It  will  remain  a  tea-gown  to  the  end  of  its  days," 
I  answered  firmly. 

"  When  will  you  wear  it  ?  "  asked  Angela. 

"Angela,"  I  replied,  "you  should  check  that  spirit 
of  curiosity  before  it  becomes  too  deeply  rooted.  Curi- 
osity is  not  a  pleasant  feature  in  any  one's  character, 
and  it  once  killed  a  cat.  Tradition  says  it  was  care, 
but  I  am  convinced  it  was  curiosity." 

[106] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

Then  I  walked  out  of  the  room  with  dignity  and  left 
Angela  gaping.  I  rarely  correct  my  sister;  in  fact,  I 
dare  not.  But  when  I  do  her  breath  comes  in  gasps. 

Aunt  Menelophe  saw  me  off  at  the  station  yesterday 
afternoon.  She  presented  me  with  a  five-pound  note, 
a  box  of  chocolates,  and  Ally  Sloper. 

"  Good-by,  little  girl,"  said  she.  "  Tell  your  mother 
I  return  you  exactly  three  weeks  to  the  day,  and  many 
thanks  for  the  loan.  I  wish  I  could  keep  you  three 
months,  but  I  am  a  woman  of  my  word.  You  have 
cheered  up  an  old  woman,  and  almost  made  her  a  Free 
Trader  and  Liberal.  Remember  all  I  have  told  you 
about  clothes,  and  wear  blue.  Never  again  put  on  that 
frightful  pink.  Give  it  to  the  first  beggar  woman  you 
meet.  Come  whenever  you  like  to  the  Hall.  You  will 
always  find  a  welcome,  And  should  you  ever  be  in 
trouble,  bring  it  to  me,  and  we'll  see  what  can  be  done 
with  it.  Value  your  mother.  A  good  mother  is  the 
nearest  thing  to  heaven,  and  one  generally  finds  this 
out  when  she  is  gone.  Your  mother  must  be  a  good 
woman  to  wear  such  caps  as  you  describe.  Good-by." 

Then  she  kissed  me  on  both  cheeks,  and  I  choked 
and  got  into  the  train. 

As  it  was  slowly  moving  out  of  the  station,  Butterby 
dashed  along  the  platform  and  thrust  a  small  paper 
parcel  into  my  hand. 

"  It's  a  beetle,"  he  gasped.  "  Take  very  great  care  of 
it.  It  was  the  rarest  beetle  in  my  collection,  and  is 
valuable.  I — I'm  sorry  I  frightened  you  so.  Good-by." 

[107] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Good-by,  Butterby.  Thanks  awfully.  I'm  all 
right  now,"  I  shouted  as  we  began  to  get  up  steam. 

Aunt  Menelophe  waved  a  wisp  of  lace,  and  Butterby 
an  exceedingly  soiled  handkerchief  after  me,  and  I 
flapped  Ally  Sloper  till  we  turned  a  corner  and  they 
were  lost  to  view. 

I  opened  the  parcel  gingerly — I  am  a  bit  suspicious 
of  entomologists;  they  often  seem  to  run  to  live  crea- 
tures— but  there  lay  the  duckiest,  little  bronze  beetle, 
with  heaps  of  legs,  mounted  in  gold — a  little  lace 
brooch,  on  pink  cotton  wool. 

How  kind  of  Butterby!  Poor  old  Butterby!  I  was 
growing  quite  fond  of  him.  He  was  a  dear  old  thing, 
and  stupendously  clever.  As  Aunt  Menelophe  said, 
he  appeared  to  have  every  ology  in  his  head  but  that  of 
business.  He  had  shown  me  his  collection  of  moths 
and  butterflies  and  insects  the  night  before. 

'* Butterby,"  I  had  said,  "I  should  open  a  South 
Kensington  Museum  in  the  Potteries,  and  then  when 
the  'wakes'  were  on  there  would  be  something  im- 
proving for  the  people  to  do.  Just  think  what  a 
boon  your  insects  would  be  on  a  wet  day!  and  how 
glorious  for  them  to  see  a  cockroach  impaled  on  a 
pin!" 

"That  isn't  a  cockroach,"  said  Butterby,  following 
the  direction  of  my  eyes,  "  that  is  a  Tiger  beetle.  You 
don't  seem  to  know  much  about  anything.  Girls  are 
very  ignorant." 

"  Well,  don't  be  depressed  about  it,  dear  Butterby," 

[108] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

I  replied.  "  Girls  get  on  very  well,  and  are  almost  as 
useful  as — entomologists." 

But  he  did  not  hear  me:  Butterby  rarely  listens  to 
people  talking. 

When  I  arrived  at  Birkenhead,  and  made  my  way 
to  Woodside  and  the  old,  familiar  'bus,  I  somehow  felt 
that  Jerry  would  touch  his  hat  and  spring  forward  to 
help  me  in ;  but  he  did  nothing  of  the  kind. 

"Evenin'  to  you,  Miss  Hazelt,"  says  he.  "You're 
just  'ome  in  toime,  for  your  pigs  is  bein'  killed  this 
week,  and  you  wouldn't  loike  to  'ave  missed  that,  I 
reckon.  Your  ma's  sausages,  I'm  told,  is  the  best 
made  in  'Eatherland.  Now  just  wait  a  minute,  and 
I'll  put  you  some  clane  straw  in  the  bottom  o'  the 
'bus." 

" Thank  you,  Jerry,"  I  replied;  "  I'm  going  outside." 

I  could  see  Joey  Tomlinson  coming  along  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  Joey  appears  to  prefer  a  diet  of  onions  to 
any  other. 

"Eh,  but  you'll  be  rare  cold,  Miss  Hazelt;  these 
nights  in  October  'ave  a  sharp  bit  o'  frost  in  'em — nips 
your  fingers.  Now  you  take  my  ad  voice  and  get  insoide 
among  the  clane  straw." 

He  might  have  been  addressing  one  of  mother's  pigs, 
enticing  it  to  a  warm  bed. 

"No,  thank  you,  Jerry.  I  shall  be  all  right.  I  like 
these  crisp  nights,"  I  answered,  climbing  up  to  the 
seat  beside  him.  He  lent  me  some  of  his  mackintosh 
apron  and  tucked  it  in  well  round  me.  Soon  we  had 

[109] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

left  the  town  behind  us,  and  were  swinging  along  the 
sweet-scented  country  lanes;  the  horses  were  fresh  and 
were  going  home,  and  the  passengers  few.  The  sky 
was  clear,  and  in  the  fading  light  I  could  just  make 
out  the  familiar  landmarks — the  waterworks  at  Pren- 
ton,  the  old  white  mill,  and  the  distant  Welsh  hills. 

There  were  no  such  lanes  in  Blongton,  and  I  sniffed 
in  the  sweet,  seductive  scent  of  dying  trees  and  leaves 
and  bracken,  and  soft,  moist  earth. 

"Doesn't  autumn  smell  lovely,  Jerry?"  I  said. 
"  Nearly  as  nice  as  spring,  only  not  so  hopeful." 

Jerry  sniffed  the  air  like  a  rabbit. 

"No,"  replied  he,  "I  don't  smell  anythink,  only 
some  manure  yonder  in  the  fields  'longside  o'  Prenton." 

"  Jerry,  you  are  a  Philistine,"  I  cried.  "  You  have 
no  romance  in  you — no  sense  of  beauty.  Don't  you 
love  the  delicious  scent  of  the  yellow  and  red  and 
brown  leaves  which  are  dying  and  rustling  and  falling 
— falling  to  earth?  Don't  you  like  the  smell  of  the 
pale,  yellowing  bracken  breathing  its  last  among  the 
brown  heather  and  gorse  and  beneath  the  tangled, 
weeping  hedges  ?  Don't  you  love  the  scent  of  the  fungi 
in  the  little  wet,  shady  woods,  and  the  fragrance  of  the 
pine-needles  as  they  drop  one  by  one  to  the  ground, 
softer  and  more  silent  than  raindrops  on  summer 
flowers  asleep?  Doesn't  the  lush  moss  at  the  foot  of 
the  trees,  and  the  brown  growth  which  creeps  up  the 
gray  trunks,  fill  you  with  a  land  of  delicious  sadness, 
which  is  almost  akin  to  pain  ?  Don't  the  fading  and 

[110] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

drooping  autumn  flowers — the  dahlias  and  hollyhocks 
with  their  curious,  subtle  scent,  the  Michaelmas  daisies 
and  phlox — make  you  think  of  the  autumn  of  life — 
the  gentle  sitting  down  and  resting  and  dreaming  after 
the  strenuous,  voluptuous  life  of  the  spring  and  sum- 
mer? Don't  they,  Jerry?  Don't  you  ever  feel  these 
things?" 

Jerry  remained  silent  for  a  moment  and  looked 
gravely  into  the  gathering  darkness.  Then  he  flicked 
up  his  horses,  which  had  fallen  into  a  walk,  and  spoke. 

"Nay,  Miss  Hazelt,"  he  said,  "oi  never  felt  loikes 
what  yer  descroibes  not  wonst  in  my  loife.  If  oi  had 
oi  should  'ave  thought  oi  was  drunk.  Poine-needles 
makes  me  think  of  turpentoin — turps  and  goosegrease 
is  what  the  auld  woman  rubs  my  chest  wi'  in  winter; 
dead  brackin  remoinds  me  it  makes  a  good,  dry  bed- 
din'  for  pigs;  the  droppin'  leaves  puts  me  in  moind  of 
leaf  mould  for  the  garding;  dalies  and  'olly'ocks 
makes  me  think  of  'arvest  festivals;  an'  autumn  itself 
calls  to  moind  things  loike  Michaelmas  geese,  rent 
day,  '  duckin'  apple '  night,  and  to  tell  the  auld  woman 
to  put  an  extry  blanket  on  the  bed.  Oi  should  be 
roight  miserable  if  oi  felt  as  yer  descroibs  at  the  fallin' 
of  the  year.  Oi  should  stop  insoide  and  take  hot 
drinks,  indade  oi  should  and  all." 

"  But  I  enjoy  it,  Jerry,"  I  said  gently.    "  I  love  it." 

"Do  yer?  Ah,  well,"  he  remarked,  "wimin  seems 
to  'ave  the  queerest  ways  of  enjoyin'  'emselves.  When 
my  auld  woman  is  extry  bad  and  down  in  the  dumps 

[ill] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

she  goes  to  a  saint's-day  sarvace.  As  soon  as  she  goes 
to  saint's-day  sarvaces  oi  knows  oi'm  in  fer  a  poor 
supper.  She  'asn't  the  'eart  or  strength  to  see  after 
both.  Oi  'ates  a  saint's-day  sarvace  more'n  oi  do  Sun- 
day before  Easter,  which  is  so  bloomin'  long  oi  falls 
asleep  all  over  the  place,"  and  Jerry  sighed  heavily  and 
fell  into  thought. 

It  was  seven  o'clock  and  quite  dark  as  we  swung 
down  the  lane  and  pulled  up  at  our  front  gate.  I  could 
see  the  lights  shining  through  the  trees  and  shrubs, 
and  Sammy  was  on  the  step  to  receive  my  trunk.  As  I 
walked  with  him  up  to  the  house,  Dibbs  dashed  across 
the  lawn  and  spun  in  front  of  me  like  a  merry-go- 
round.  And  mother  was  waiting  at  the  door  with  her 
cap  on  one  side,  and  Angela  was  just  behind  her,  and 
Rose,  trim  in  cap  and  apron,  was  just  behind  Angela, 
and  Elizabeth  was  peeping  through  the  kitchen  door. 
After  all,  home  was  not  so  bad.  I  hugged  mother, 
kissed  Angela,  shook  hands  with  Rose,  nodded  to 
Elizabeth,  and  patted  Dibbs,  who  was  still  behaving 
like  a  thing  demented. 

The  entire  place  smelt  of  soap,  furniture  polish,  and 
general  cleanliness.  The  linoleum  shone  and  the 
mahogany  table  and  chairs  gleamed  in  the  lamp- 
light. 

"Angela,"  I  said  as  I  walked  into  the  dining-room, 
"this  is  the  cleanest  house  in  Great  Britain.  A  Dutch 
house  might  give  it  odds.  One  cannot  say.  But  noth- 
ing in  Great  Britain  could  touch  it." 

[112] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Is  it  cleaner  than  Aunt  Menelophe's ? "  inquired 
my  sister  eagerly. 

"  Much,"  I  replied  with  emphasis  as  I  sat  down. 

"And  she  has  five  women  servants  and  one  man, 
you  say?"  continued  Angela. 

"Yes,"  said  I.  "And  I  am  convinced  that  they 
never  clean  the  picture-rods  with  vinegar  once  a  year,  let 
alone  twice,"  and  my  eyes  rested  on  the  top  of  the  walls. 

Angela's  eyes  followed  mine  with  quiet  pleasure. 

"  Yes,"  she  remarked  with  a  little  sigh  of  satisfaction, 
"  they  do  look  nice." 

Presently  she  suggested  I  should  take  off  my  things, 
as  tea  was  ready  and  the  chicken  would  be  spoilt. 

"And  don't  spill  any  candle-grease  on  the  stairs," 
she  called  after  me,  "  as  they  have  just  been  done  with 
brown  paper  and  an  iron." 

Then  I  became  wicked.  I  was  quite  cheerful  and 
contented  till  Angela  mentioned  the  word  grease  and 
told  me  to  mind.  I  hate  being  told  to  mind.  I  walked 
slowly  up  the  stairs,  and  as  soon  as  I  had  turned  the 
corner  I  bent  down  and  spilt  one  nice,  fat  spot  of 
grease  on  a  red  flower  in  the  carpet  on  the  top  stair. 
Then  I  felt  happier  and  passed  on  to  my  room. 

It  looked  cheerless  and  excessively  clean.  Where 
was  the  bright  wood  fire  ?  Where  were  the  soft,  yellow 
walls  and  frilly,  silk  curtains  ?  The  fuchsias  on  the 
paper  looked  stiff  and  chilly.  And  why  did  Angela 
insist  on  having  the  Nottingham  lace  curtains  starched 
so  aggressively?  They  might  have  been  wearing 
8  [113] 


crinolines.  I  gave  them  a  vicious  prod,  and  they 
merely  crackled  and  sprang  back  again.  I  walked  to 
the  bed  and  gave  the  stiff,  staring  white  counterpane 
a  tweak.  Why  couldn't  it  be  soft  and  lacy  and  frilly 
like  Aunt  Menelophe's?  I  stared  at  the  six  prim 
crochet  mats  on  the  dressing-table,  all  matching,  and 
exactly  opposite  to  one  another.  On  one  rested  a  can- 
dlestick; on  another  rested  a  candlestick — both  white 
china  with  pink  bands.  On  a  third  rested  a  ring-stand 
— I  have  one  ring.  On  a  fourth  lay  a  trinket-jar,  also 
white  china  with  a  pink  band.  A  fifth  would  support 
a  small  Bible,  and  the  sixth  Jeremy  Taylor  when  I  had 
unpacked  them.  I  passed  to  the  washstand.  Four 
more  crochet  mats  reposed  there,  but  these  were  red 
and  white.  I  mixed  them  all  up  with  the  dressing- 
table  mats,  and  chuckled  as  I  pictured  Rose  sorting 
them  out  in  the  morning.  Afterward  I  opened  the 
window,  and  leaned  out  into  the  night.  The  evening  was 
very  still.  Across  the  river,  in  Wales,  the  lights  twin- 
kled at  me — as  I  thought — sympathetically.  More 
lights  twinkled  in  the  blue  above.  Then  the  moon  rose 
in  splendor,  and  sent  a  shimmering  band  of  light  across 
the  waters  of  the  Dee.  The  little  waves  turned  into 
silver,  and  rippled  and  tumbled  and  laughed.  And  a 
tiny  breeze  came  along  and  caught  up  the  laugh,  and 
carried  it  to  the  trees  and  leaves  close  to  my  window. 
And  the  leaves  laughed,  too,  and  rustled  and  tumbled 
one  over  another  to  the  soft  grass  below ;  and  one  little 
yellow  one  blew  against  my  lips  as  though  to  kiss  me, 

[114] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

and  I  held  it  in  my  hand  and  stroked  its  damp,  fading 
face.  Bit  by  bit  the  soft  stillness  of  the  night  entered 
my  being,  and  a  peace  fell  upon  me. 

What  did  it  all  matter  ?  How  could  I  care  about  the 
little  worries  and  jars  of  life  when  I  was  still  young  and 
strong,  and  had  the  trees  and  river  and  hills  and  dear 
Mother  Earth  to  love  and  to  comfort  me  ?  And  there 
was  my  own  mother.  There  was  always  mother,  who, 
when  I  could  get  her  away  from  Angela,  was  the  very 
nicest  of  mothers.  I  would — 

"  Hazel,  are  you  coming  ?  "  said  mother's  voice  sud- 
denly behind  me. 

I  started. 

"  Yes,  mother,  I'm  coming." 

"  What  were  you  doing  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  at  me 
suspiciously.  "You've  been  crying." 

"No,  I  haven't,"  I  lied.  "My  eyes  are  watering 
after  the  wind  in  my  face." 

Then  I  took  her  arm  in  mine,  and  we  walked  down 
the  stairs  together.  When  we  reached  the  bottom 
stair,  I  said — 

"Mother,  will  you  give  me  another  kiss?"  and  I 
put  my  arms  round  her  tightly. 

She  did  so,  and  looked  at  me  wonderingly. 

"Aren't  you  well ?"  she  asked. 

"Quite,"  I  replied,  forcing  a  laugh.  "So  well  that 
I  feel  equal  to  eating  two  whole  chickens  myself." 

"  There  is  only  one,"  said  mother  practically,  "  Gray 
Legs — she  was  killed  yesterday." 

[115] 


CHAPTER  X 

An  All-Hallows'  E'en  Party 

THE  last  fortnight  had  been  so  chock-full  of 
events  and  things  happening  and  things  about 
to  happen,  that  I  have  decided  Heatherland 
is  not  half  so  dull  a  place  as  I  imagined.  Even  pig- 
killing  day  was  not  so  sad  as  usual.  It  is  generally  a 
day  I  look  upon  with  horror — a  sanguinary,  odious 
sort  of  day;  a  day  upon  which  I  efface  myself  as 
much  as  Angela  will  permit;  a  day  upon  which  I  stuff 
my  fingers  into  my  ears  and  fly  to  the  most  remote 
corner  of  the  garden — anywhere  and  anything  to  es- 
cape those  terrible  screams.  This  time  I  put  on  my 
hat  and  jacket  and  rushed  off  to  the  shore.  I  met  Bill 
the  pig-killer  in  his  blue  coat  just  as  I  was  leaving  the 
front  gate. 

"Oh,  Bill!"  I  cried,  "hurt  Sukey  as  little  as  pos- 
sible." 

Bill  has  such  nice  feelings,  considering  his  vocation. 

"Ay,  ay!  Miss  Hazelt,"  he  replied.  "Sukey  will 
feel  it  no  more  than  if  it  was  a  fleabite.  One  mo- 
ment she's  'ere  and  the  next  she's  sausages,  so  to 
speak." 

[116] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Don't,  Bill,"  I  said;  "I  can't  bear  it.  Nobody 
knows  what  Sukey  has  been  to  me."  And  I  hurried 
on,  trying  not  to  think  or  see  things  too  vividly. 

Sukey  was  such  a  nice,  adaptable,  happy-go-lucky 
sort  of  pig.  She  would  eat  anything  that  was  put 
before  her  and  appear  to  enjoy  it.  Once  she  ate  up  an 
old  sponge  of  mine  that  had  been  thrown  by  accident 
into  the  sty.  Another  time  she  devoured  one  of  Eliza- 
beth's dish-cloths.  Nothing  seemed  to  come  amiss 
with  her.  She  never  carped  at  life,  and  now — now  it 
was  to  be  ended. 

I  threw  stones  into  the  water  for  Dibbs.  I  made 
ducks  and  drakes  with  the  little  flat  ones.  I  watched 
the  shadows  racing  each  other  up  the  hills  in  the  sunlit 
fields.  I  wandered  into  Dick  Manner's  lane  and 
picked  some  red-leaved  bramble.  I  noted  that  winter 
was  very  near,  that  the  grass  on  the  banks  was  rank 
and  sodden,  and  the  sedges  and  reeds  by  the  little 
streams  were  brown  and  bent  and  lay  low  in  the  run- 
ning water.  Yes,  winter  was  corning.  The  long  hours 
in  the  soft,  cool  wind  and  warm  sunshine,  and  fragrant 
lanes  and  fields  were  at  an  end.  The  hawthorn  hedges 
were  bare  of  leaf,  and  the  branches  of  the  oak  and 
mountain  ash — the  longest-lived  of  the  big  trees — 
were  naked  and  forlorn.  I  sighed  and  went  home. 
Why  was  summer  so  short  and  winter  so  long?  It 
would  have  been  quite  as  easy  so  arrange  it  the  other 
way  about.  I  paused  when  I  reached  Sandy  Lane.  I 
would  go  straight  into  the  house;  mother  would  be 

[117] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

wanting  me.  But  I  didn't.  My  feet  carried  me  to  the 
yard  and  the  wash-house,  from  whence  the  sound 
of  voices  proceeded.  There  lay  Sukey  white  in  death 
on  the  floor.  Bill  was  pouring  boiling  water  over  her, 
and  Sammy  was  scraping  her.  She  looked  resigned 
and  peaceful. 

"  Twenty  score  if  she's  an  ounce,  Miss  Hazelt,"  said 
Sammy  with  pride. 

"Yes,  she  digested  her  food  well,"  I  replied. 

"An'  she  came  along  as  quiet  as  a  dog  on  a  string, 
and  she  was  ttiat  fat  she  couldn't  screech,"  remarked 
Bill  comfortingly. 

But  I  had  no  craving  for  details,  and  went  into  the 
house  reflecting  what  a  curious  and  sad  thing  is  life  for 
some  of  God's  creatures. 

The  next  two  days  were  filled  with  curing  and  pick- 
ling and  boiling,  and  sausage-making  and  pork  pies, 
and  I  never  once  gave  way  to  irritability ;  in  fact,  I  am 
so  amiable  and  gentle  that  I  am  becoming  nervous 
that  something  may  happen.  Perhaps  I  am  growing 
good!  Perhaps  I  am  braced  and  strengthened  and 
invigorated  both  in  mind  and  body  for  my  change. 
Or  perhaps  mother  and  Angela  discovered  in  my  ab- 
sence that  after  all  I  am  not  so  bad.  Angela  has  ceased 
to  watch  me  warily  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye  each 
time  I  enter  the  room,  which  always  gave  the  impres- 
sion that  she  was  a  detective  on  the  track  of  a  base 
criminal.  She  does  not  adopt  those  martyred,  injured 
tones  of  old  when  she  requests  me  to  dust  the  drawing- 

[118] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

room  or  help  brush  the  mattresses  on  bedroom-cleaning 
day.  She  does  not  keep  reminding  me  that  she,  mother, 
Elizabeth,  and  Rose  are  simply  run  off  their  legs  with 
work,  while  I  look  on  and  do  nothing. 

Or  does  she  do  these  things?  After  all,  she  may, 
and  perhaps  it  is  only  I  who  am  changed.  I  am  so 
bright  and  happy  and  unselfish,  as  I  said  before,  and 
so  filled  with  a  desire  to  do  kind  things  for  others,  that 
I  feel  like  Ministering  Children,  and  am  quite  nervous 
of  being  caught  up  to  heaven  like  Elijah  without  dying. 
I  am  not  yet  ready  to  go.  I  am  invited  to  tea,  with 
mother  and  Angela,  to  Mr.  Inderwick's,  and  I  want  to 
wear  my  new,  blue,  beaver  hat. 

At  last  I  have  met  that  man.  It  was  at  Mrs.  Moss's 
party  on  "All-Hallows'  E'en,"  and  I  like  him — 
rather. 

I  remembered  what  Aunt  Menelophe  advised,  and  I 
behaved  toward  him  as  though  nothing  had  happened; 
and  he  was  so  magnanimous. 

He  was  not  there  the  first  part  of  the  evening,  and 
it  was  a  little  dull.  It  is  difficult  to  make  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Moss  realize  that  we  are  grown  up. 

Angela  and  I  wore  our  white,  embroidered  muslins, 
which  were  freshly  got-up  by  Mrs.  Flutterby  for  the 
occasion,  and  were  as  starchy  as  our  curtains. 

I  thought  it  would  be  a  pleasant  change  for  Heath- 
erland  to  see  my  new  silk  from  Rea's  in  Basnett  Street; 
but  Angela  said  "  Ridiculous !  Think  what  it  would  be 
like  when  we  play  games ! " 
[119] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

I  had  forgotten  the  games. 

It  was  a  pitch-dark  night,  and  Rose  accompanied 
us  to  the  Moss's  with  a  lantern.  Mother  always  sends 
Rose  with  us.  She  says  it  is  safer  along  these  lonely 
roads.  This  generalization  I  have  never  been  able  to 
follow.  Rose  is  considerably  younger  than  Angela,  and 
much  smaller  in  stature  than  I.  Then,  too,  she  has  to 
return  alone,  which  I  think  far  from  safe.  But  mother 
says  it  is  quite  different  for  her,  as  she  is  not  in  the 
sajne  social  position.  Surely  blackguards  and  thieves 
and  evil  men  bent  on  dark  deeds  do  not  worry  about 
class  distinctions!  Some  day  I  know  Rose  will  be 
murdered  in  Sandy  Lane,  and  then  mother  will  be 
sorry. 

We  were  the  first  to  arrive,  Angela  is  so  punctual. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Moss,  Frederick,  and  four  daughters 
received  us  in  the  drawing-room  with  cups  of  coffee. 
Frederick  was  looking  tragic.  He  stared  at  the  ceiling 
and  gnawed  his  moustache.  I  guessed  an  epic  poem 
was  simmering. 

Rosabel  and  Alicia  Hawthorn  were  the  next  to  be 
announced.  Rosabel  had  on  a  new  blue  frock,  which 
annoyed  me  excessively.  She  had  risked  the  games. 
Why  hadn't  I  ?  Then  Mr.  Gates  bulked  large  in  the 
doorway,  followed  by  the  Honorable  Horatio  Stanhope 
— a  nephew.  Mrs.  Gates  was  removing  her  hat.  The 
Honorable  Horatio  caused  a  flutter,  but  unfortunately 
he  is  a  little  bow-legged. 

Then  one  by  one  the  young  members  of  the  Heath- 
[120] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

erland  "families"  trooped  in.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gates 
were  the  only  grown-ups.  They  are  invited  to  all 
functions,  otherwise  they  would  invite  themselves. 
Mr.  Gates  says  the  cloth  should  be  represented  at  all 
times  and  all  seasons;  it  lends  a  restraining  influence. 
Perhaps  he  thinks  we  should  become  too  uncontrolled 
over  "Turn  the  Trencher"  if  he  were  not  present. 
Mrs.  Moss's  parties  always  open  with  "Turn  the 
Trencher." 

We  filed  into  the  organ-room,  which  has  a  polished 
floor,  and  took  up  our  positions. 

Is  there  any  one  in  this  world  who  has  not  met  that 
fascinating  game,  "  Turn  the  Trencher  "  ? 

Whenever  I  am  specially  dull  and  depressed  I  just 
think  of  "Turn  the  Trencher."  I  fancy  I  hear  the 
twirl  of  the  little,  wooden  tray  on  the  polished  floor. 
I  hear  some  one  call  "  Poppy,"  and  I  dash  forward  in 
wild  haste.  Am  I  too  late  ?  Shall  I  catch  it  ? 

We  are  all  loyal  to  each  other — we  Heatherlandites 
— in  the  matter  of  names.  We  never  poach  each 
other's.  I  have  been  "  Poppy  "  from  time  immemorial, 
and  Angela  is  "Camelia,"  which  seems  to  suit  her  so 
admirably.  For  is  not  a  camelia  the  neatest  and 
primmest  and  most  composed  of  flowers  ?  Angela 
slides  down  the  room  with  an  undulating  movement 
when  "Camelia"  is  called.  She  doesn't  bustle,  and 
she  is  always  in  time.  I  would  give  much  to  see  Angela 
once  miss  the  trencher,  but  she  never  will.  Angela 
never  misses  things. 

[121] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

After  "Turn  the  Trencher"  we  played  "General 
Post."  In  this  again  we  invariably  stick  to  our  own 
names.  I  should  be  really  angry  if  any  one  claimed 
Timbuctoo.  I  should  feel  like  a  parson  who  has  been 
done  out  of  his  tithes  by  some  stupid  parliamentary 
bill. 

"The  post  runs  between  Timbuctoo  and  the  North 
Pole, "  calls  out  Mrs.  Moss  in  dulcet  tones.  It  is  a  fren- 
zied moment.  The  blindfolded  one  is  close  on  my 
heels.  Shall  I  dodge  her?  With  lithe,  snake-like 
movements  I  creep  along  the  floor.  I  coil  and  uncoil, 
I  dodge,  I  double,  I  feint,  and  glide  breathless  into  the 
North  Pole's  chair.  The  North  Pole  is  Frederick 
Moss.  He  has  allowed  himself  to  be  caught  deliber- 
ately. He  looks  well  posing  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
with  his  sprouting  red  moustache  peeping  below  the 
handkerchief;  and  he  is  so  long  in  catching  another 
town  that  we  become  tired. 

"  Hands  up  for  '  Clumps,' "  calls  Mrs.  Moss  in  an 
inspiriting  voice.  Up  go  our  hands,  for  "Clumps"  is 
an  instructive  game,  an  education  in  itself.  I  think 
after  "Turn  the  Trencher"  I  like  "Clumps"  next 
best. 

"You  go  out,  Hazel." 

I  bow  with  surprised  pleasure,  and  the  Honorable 
Horatio  accompanies  me  to  the  hall.  We  select  the 
wart  on  Oliver  Cromwell's  nose. 

"Is  it  animal?"  whispers  the  Hon.  Horatio  as  we 
enter  the  room. 

[122] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

"  Of  course,"  I  reply.  "  Did  you  think  it  was  vege- 
table?" 

We  each  sit  down  in  the  middle  of  our  respective 
"Clump."  Questions  in  whispers  fly  about  the  room 
like  greased  lightning.  I  parry,  I  dissemble,  but  they 
are  hot  on  the  scent,  and  in  a  moment  a  wild  clapping 
of  hands  announces  that  my  "  Clump  "  has  won. 

The  other  "  Clump  "  looks  aggrieved.  "  But  he  said 
it  was  ornamental,"  and  accusing  fingers  are  pointed 
at  the  Hon.  Horatio.  The  Hon.  Horatio  twirls  and 
fidgets  on  his  music-stool,  and  looks  unhappy. 

"Now  for  refreshments.  But  perhaps  nobody 
wants  refreshments,"  says  Mr.  Moss. 

He  makes  the  same  little  joke  every  year,  and  we 
all  laugh.  We  like  Mr.  Moss;  he  is  a  dear,  and  so 
kind  to  young  people,  and  has  such  a  beautiful  white 
beard. 

We  scatter  ourselves  about  the  dining-room  and 
devour  oyster  pafes  and  chicken  creams.  I  can  see 
Angela  counting  up  the  cost  of  the  pates  and  wonder- 
ing if  the  cases  are  home-made.  I  eat  six.  "Turn 
the  Trencher"  is  hungry  work.  Then  we  pass  on  to 
jellies  and  sweets,  and  I  raise  a  large  spoonful  of  my 
favorite  apple  snow  cream  to  my  mouth.  How  de- 
licious it  is!  When  I  am  a  rich  woman  I  shall  have 
apple  snow  every  Sunday  for  dinner,  and  always  on 
Bank  Holidays. 

Then  the  most  exciting  moment  of  the  evening 
arrives.  We  are  led  to  a  small  breakfast-room,  where 

[123] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

on  the  floor  rests  a  large  tub  full  of  water  and  apples. 
"Ducking-apple"  night  must  be  observed.  Each  per- 
son ducks  in  turn,  and  he  or  she  who  catches  the 
most  apples  in  his  or  her  mouth  receives  a  prize. 

Mrs.  Moss  remarks  it  is  only  for  quite  young  peo- 
ple, and  the  elder  ones  may  look  on  if  they  like.  Some 
of  them  range  themselves  in  chairs  round  the  room.  I 
don't  care  if  I'm  young  or  old,  I  mean  to  duck  for 
apples  till  I'm  fifty.  It  is  the  only  real  bit  of  fun  in 
the  evening. 

My  turn  has  come.  I  fasten  the  big,  Turkish  towel 
round  my  bare  neck  and  shoulders  in  case  of  accident ; 
I  push  back  my  hair;  I  kneel  on  a  woolly  mat;  I  take 
a  deep,  long  breath,  and  the  next  minute  I  am  chivying 
a  small,  foolish  apple  round  and  round  the  tub.  It 
bobs  under  as  my  teeth  are  about  to  close  on  it;  it 
shoots  up  like  a  cork  and  turns  somersaults;  it  dances 
and  dives  and  spins  round.  I  am  getting  angry  and 
very  wet.  Slowly  and  surely  I  manoeuvre  it  to  the  side 
of  the  tub.  I  press  it  closely,  and  my  teeth  fasten 
upon  it  like  a  hungry  wolf's.  With  a  dripping  face 
I  emerge  from  the  tub  and  drop  the  apple  upon  the 
floor. 

Cheer  upon  cheer  greet  my  triumph,  and,  turning 
round,  I  espy  Mr.  Inderwick  smiling  broadly  in  the 
doorway.  Hastily  I  gather  myself  up.  Why  does 
Fate  always  put  me  into  the  most  ridiculous  attitudes 
every  time  that  man  darkens  my  path?  It  is  too 
bad.  He  walks  across  the  room  with  his  slow,  heavy 

[124] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

gait,  and,  shaking  hands  with  Mrs.  Moss,  apologizes 
for  being  late. 

"I  was  detained  by  business,"  I  hear  him  explain, 
"and  afterward — well,  Sandy  Lane  is  very  sandy, 
and  Rocky  Lane  is  horribly  rocky." 

Mrs.  Moss  laughs,  and  out  of  the  corner  of  my 
eye  I  see  him  glancing  round  the  room  for  a  chair. 
The  only  vacant  seat  is  by  me.  Its  late  occupant  is 
now  ducking  for  apples  in  his  turn — the  Hon.  Horatio 
Stanhope — and  is  causing  much  laughter  thereby. 
He  looks  at  the  chair  for  a  moment,  then  at  me,  and 
hesitates.  I  feel  my  cheeks  growing  hot,  and  try  to 
mop  my  wet  face  and  hair  unconcernedly.  Then  he 
deliberately  crosses  the  room  to  Angela,  and  I  hear  him 
ask  her  for  an  introduction  to  me.  Angela  looks  aston- 
ished, and  well  she  may. 

"But  don't  you  know  Hazel?"  I  hear  my  sister 
say.  "She  is  the  girl  in  white  with  dark  hair  who 
has  just  been  ducking  for  apples." 

I  cannot  catch  his  reply  above  the  splashings  of 
the  Hon.  Horatio  and  the  general  laughter.  But 
Angela  rises  and  brings  him  to  me,  and  says — 

"This  is  Mr.  Inderwick." 

He  bows  gravely,  and  takes  the  seat  beside  me 
without  offering  his  hand.  His  calmness  takes  my 
breath  away.  Has  he  forgotten  my  rudeness  in  the 
stubbly  field?  or  does  he  simply  regard  me  in  the 
light  of  a  spoiled  child?  Then  Aunt  Menelophe's 
advice  flashes  across  my  mind,  "Be  natural,  and 

[125] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

behave  just  as  though  nothing  had  happened."  I 
feel,  too,  that  it  is  impossible  to  be  dignified  when 
he  has  just  seen  me  with  my  head  in  a  tub.  So,  as 
quick  as  lightning,  I  turn  round  and  offer  him  my 
hand  in  friendly  fashion. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Inderwick?  I  am  glad 
to  renew  our  acquaintance,"  I  say  lightly.  "It  is 
many  years  since  we  met.  I  should  hardly  have 
known  you." 

NMy  heart  is  beating  thickly;  I  am  dreadfully  ner- 
vous, in  spite  of  my  airiness.  How  will  he  take  it  ? 
A  puzzled  look  steals  across  his  countenance  for  a 
moment,  and  he  knits  his  brows.  Then  I  begin  to 
enjoy  myself,  and  have  some  difficulty  in  suppress- 
ing a  giggle.  He  glances  at  me  swiftly  for  a 
second,  but  my  face  is  inscrutable — at  least,  so 
I  imagine.  His  gaze  returns  to  the  apple-ducker  with 
interest. 

"Yes,"  he  says  at  length,  "it  is  many  years  since 
we  met.  I  shouldn't  have  known  you  either." 

It  is  my  turn  to  start  now,  but  he  doesn't  observe 
it.  He  is  laughing  with  the  others,  and  is  certainly 
very  indifferent.  I  wish  he  would  pay  more  attention 
to  me. 

"  How  long  ago  is  it  since  you  saw  me  ?  "  I  inquire. 
"  Am  I  as  much  changed  as  that  ?  " 

"Yes,  you  are  very  much  altered.  It  is  about  three 
wee — I  mean  fourteen  years,"  he  says,  without  looking 
at  me. 

[126] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Oh,  of  course.  How  time  flies!"  I  remark  bril- 
liantly. 

"  Yes,"  he  says,  equally  brilliantly. 

Then  a  silence  falls  between  us,  and  I  study  the 
soles  of  the  Hon.  Horatio's  patent  shoes,  which  are 
turned  toward  me  from  the  mat  upon  which  he  kneels. 

"I  was  quite  a  tiny  girl  in  those  days,"  I  presently 
remark,  "and  we  went  cockling  together." 

"Yes,"  he  replies. 

"And  I  got  myself  very  dirty." 

"  Yes,"  he  says  again. 

I  begin  to  feel  irritated.  I  wish  he  were  not  quite 
so  monosyllabic.  I  hate  men  who  invariably  reply 
as  though  each  word  were  worth  its  weight  in  gold. 

"  But  perhaps  you  have  forgotten  it  all  ?  "  I  inquire, 
the  least  shade  tartly. 

"Perhaps  I  have,"  he  says;  and  then  he  turns 
round  suddenly  and  smiles  at  me. 

The  smile  might  mean  anything.  It  is  quizzical 
and  kind,  and  amused  and  sarcastic  and  whimsical 
all  in  the  same  breath,  and  is  altogether  so  irresistible 
that  before  I  know  what  I  am  doing  I  am  smiling 
back  at  him  like  an  easily-pleased  infant. 

"  Ah ! "  he  says,  and  the  smile  broadens  into  a  laugh, 
"now  I  know  you." 

And  just  at  this  exceedingly  interesting  moment 
Mrs.  Moss  announces  it  is  my  turn  to  duck.  How 
much  longer  is  this  foolish  game  to  continue?  My 
interest  in  it  has  gone,  and  my  luck  has  vanished.  I 

[127] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

chase  a  hard,  green  apple  round  the  tub  till  I  am 
dizzy.  It  is  as  elusive  as  a  shadow.  I  give  it  a  final 
vicious  snap,  and  it  merely  shoots  below  like  a  torpedo 
boat.  I  surrender  amid  roars  of  laughter,  and  I 
emerge  soaked,  and  vanish  upstairs  to  dry  myself  and 
brush  my  hair. 

When  I  descended,  they  had  all  returned  to  the 
drawing-room,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Moss  were  whisper- 
ing in  a  corner. 

"  We  are  going  to  finish  up  the  evening  wrth  a  little 
dance,"  announces  Mrs.  Moss.  "Will  you  all  help  to 
move  the  furniture  ?  " 

The  doors  of  the  organ-room  are  thrown  open,  and 
Mrs.  Moss  breaks  into  a  seductive  waltz. 

Seventeen  girls  lean  in  careless  attitudes  against 
the  walls,  and  try  not  to  remember  that  there  are 
only  seven  men  among  them,  and  one  of  them  is 
Frederick  Moss. 

I  hear  a  manly  tread  behind  me.  I  imagine  it  is 
Mr.  Inderwick,  and  turn  round  to  find  the  Hon. 
Horatio  is  offering  me  his  arm. 

"  Ha! "  he  says,  " may  I  have  the  pleasure  ? " 

Now  I  feel  inclined  to  kick  the  Hon.  Horatio,  I 
am  so  disappointed;  but  I  place  my  hand  on  his  arm 
and — we  leap  into  the  air.  I  had  expected  to  waltz, 
and  the  leap  surprises  me.  But  Mr.  Stanhope  appears 
to  enjoy  it.  After  each  jump  through  space  he  says 
"Ha!"  Sometimes  we  leap  into  other  people,  and  I 
am  badly  hurt;  and  just  when  I  am  at  my  last  gasp  he 

[128] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

plumps  me  down  on  a  chair,  says,  "Thanks  awfully, 
ha ! "  and  leaves  me. 

I  lean  my  head  dizzily  against  the  wall,  and  feel 
very  sea-sick  and  miserable,  and  my  frock  is  torn; 
and  then  Mr.  Inderwick  came  to  me. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  hurt  ?  "  he  said  kindly. 

"No,  thank  you,"  I  replied;  "but  I  feel  sick  and 
dizzy,"  and  I  closed  my  eyes.  I  really  felt  horribly 
sick,  and  the  room  spun  round  me.  Perhaps  it  was 
on  the  top  of  the  apple-ducking.  I  would  have  given 
much  at  that  moment  to  have  put  my  head  some- 
where. I  felt  faint  and  queer,  and  I  daren't  say  so. 
Mr.  Inderwick  would  think  me  an  affected,  little 
fool. 

"Would  you  like  me  to  get  you  a  glass  of  wine?" 
I  heard  his  voice  say  from  somewhere;  but  it  sounded 
faint  and  small,  and  as  though  it  did  not  belong  to  him. 

"No,  thank  you,"  I  replied  in  a  still  smaller  voice; 
"I'm  all  right."  And  the  next  moment  there  was  a 
singing  in  my  ears,  a  blackness  before  my  eyes,  and 
the  whole  room  vanished. 

It  must  have  been  only  a  momentary  faintness,  for 
when  I  came  round  I  was  still  sitting  on  the  same  chair, 
and  Mr.  Inderwick  was  looking  gravely  at  me. 

"  You  turned  faint  ?  "  he  said  inquiringly. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "I  believe  I  did." 

"Come  with  me.     This  place  is   hot;  the  dining- 
room  is  cool,  and  I'll  get  you  some  wine,"  he  said, 
and  he  led  me  from  the  room. 
9  [ 129 1 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

I  still  felt  as  though  I  were  somebody  else  and  he 
was  a  long  way  off,  and  I  walked  shakily  and  the  hall 
seemed  misty. 

"Now,"  he  ordered,  "drink  this,  and  don't  speak. 
You  must  lie  down  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  you'll 
feel  better." 

I  gulped  down  some  neat  brandy  and  dropped  my 
head  on  to  a  cushion.  How  lovely  and  restful  it  was! 
And  how  far  away  the  music  sounded !  I  think  I  must 
have  fallen  into  a  doze,  for  the  next  time  I  opened  my 
eyes  Angela  was  leaning  over  me. 

"Mr.  Inderwick  tells  me  you  turned  faint,  Hazel. 
Are  you  better,  and  are  you  ready  to  go  home  ?  Rose 
has  come  for  us,"  she  said  quite  kindly. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "I'm  quite  ready,"  and  I  rose  from 
the  couch.  But  I  was  still  dizzy,  and  my  knees  shook 
under  me.  I  managed,  however,  to  get  upstairs,  and 
by  the  time  my  cloak  and  hat  were  on  and  I  was  outside 
in  the  fresh  air,  the  world  had  resumed  its  normal  pro- 
portions. 

Mr.  Inderwick  overtook  us,  and  walked  with  us 
to  our  gate. 

"Thank  you,"  I  said,  as  we  shook  hands.  "It  is 
the  first  time  I  have  ever  felt  faint  in  my  life;  and  I 
feel  grateful  to  you  for  not  fussing  and  announcing 
it  to  the  room.  I  pride  myself  on  my  health  and 
strength;  but  I  think  it  was  six  oyster  patds  and  apple- 
ducking  combined." 

"No,"  he  said,  "it  wasn't.    It  was  because  a  danc- 

[130] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

ing  Dervish  caused  you  to  spin  round  for  ten  min- 
utes on  end,  and  human  nature  couldn't  stand  it. 
Good-night." 

"Good-night,"  I  replied,  laughing,  and  I  went 
into  the  house  feeling  quite  comforted. 

"You  turned  faint  once  before,  in  church,  so  this 
makes  the  second  time,"  remarked  my  sister  with 
her  customary  accuracy. 

"  So  I  did,"  I  replied.    "  I  forgot." 


[131] 


CHAPTER  XI 

We  Go  to   Tea  with  Mr.  Inderwick,  and  I  Describe 
the  Dusting  of  Parian  Jugs 

WHEN  Mr.  Inderwick's  invitation  came  for  us 
all  to  go  to  tea  (it  was  four  days  after  the 
party)  Angela  remarked  — 

"What  a  strange  man!    He  is  very  unconventional." 

"Why?"  asked  mother.  "I  think  it's  very  friendly 
and  kind  of  him." 

"It  may  be,"  said  Angela.  "I  don't  deny  it;  but 
it  shows  he  is  unaccustomed  to  the  usages  of  good 
society,"  and  my  sister  stroked  the  gathers  of  a  night- 
gown she  was  making  with  extra  firmness  and  pre- 
cision. 

"  But  why  ?  "  again  asked  mother.  "  He  has  invited 
me  to  go  with  you  both.  He  evidently  understands 
the  necessity  for  a  chaperon,  and  I  hope  my  new 
bonnet  will  be  back  in  time." 

"That  is  not  the  point,"  replied  Angela.  "Of 
course  he  realizes  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  us 
two  girls  to  go  to  the  house  alone." 

"  Not  at  all,"  I  broke  in.  "  I  shouldn't  care  a  button. 
I  think  it  would  be  great  fun  to  go  quite  by  myself." 

[132] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

Angela  regarded  me  in  stony  surprise  for  ten  seconds, 
then  she  resumed  her  work  in  shocked  silence. 

"Well,  Angela,"  resumed  mother  a  little  irritably, 
"  what  do  you  mean  ?  Go  on.  In  what  way  has  Mr. 
Inderwick  outraged  that  which  is  accepted  as  correct 
in  good  society  ?  " 

"By  not  returning  our  call,  for  one  thing.  It  is 
nearly  three  weeks  since  we  called  on  him,  and  you 
are  aware  that  a  first  call  should  be  returned  within 
seven  days.  And,  'secondly,  he  should  have  waited 
for  the  first  invitation,  for  the  first  advance  toward 
friendship,  to  have  come  from  us,"  and  Angela  closed 
her  lips  with  a  snap. 

"Stuff  and  nonsense!  bunkum  and  rot!"  I  shouted 
— I  admit,  rudely.  "  I  never  heard  such  nonsense  in 
the  whole  of  my  life.  You  stay  at  home,  Angela,  if 
you  are  so  mighty  particular,  and  mother  and  Mr. 
Inderwick  and  I  will  have  a  nice  little  tea-party  by 
our  three  selves." 

Once  again  Angela  regarded  me  in  the  way  she 
regards  spiders  should  they  dare  to  cross  a  ceiling  in 
her  presence,  and  I  shrivelled  up.  I  cannot  with- 
stand Angela's  gaze  for  more  than  sixty  seconds  at 
a  time.  My  bones  turn  to  water  and  my  tongue  cleaves 
to  the  roof  of  my  mouth. 

"But  really,  Angela,"  I  continued  weakly,  "do  you 
think  we  need  observe  all  this  etiquette  quite  so  rigor- 
ously in  a  country  village,  and  we  have  known  Mr. 
Inderwick  so  many  vears — in  a  fashion  ?  " 

[133] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

My  sister  unbent  a  little. 

"Perhaps  under  the  circumstances,  and  as  the 
invitation  is  for  afternoon  tea  only,  we  might  accept 
it,  though  I'm  not  sure  that  it  is  wise." 

Then  she  added  a  five  minutes'  lecture  upon  my 
vulgar  expressions  and  language. 

"Where  did  you  pick  them  up?  It  is  really  dis- 
tressing to  hear  you." 

"From  Sammy  and  Jerry  and  other  nice  men  in 
Heatherland,"  I  replied,  as  I  pushed  mother  into  a 
chair  at  the  writing  table  and  placed  pen  and  paper 
before  her. 

The  letter  was  written  and  sealed  before  Angela 
could  change  her  mind,  and  I  rushed  off  to  Sammy 
with  it,  and  told  him  to  take  it  to  the  Old  Hall  Farm 
at  once. 

"And  don't  lose  it,  Sammy,"  I  said,  "for  it's  most 
important." 

And  I  believe  Sammy  winked,  but  I'm  not  sure.  I 
try  not  to  think  so. 

Tuesday  seemed  a  long  time  in  coming,  but  when 
it  did  it  was  lovely  and  fresh  and  sunny,  with  white 
clouds  very  high  up  in  the  sky  chasing  each  other 
across  the  blue. 

I  meant  to  give  myself  quite  a  long  time  to  dress, 
but  the  flecks  of  sunshine  on  the  lawn  and  bare  trees 
kept  inviting  me  to  watch  them.  And  the  light  and 
shadow  playing  hide-and-seek  on  the  hills  in  Wales 
and  across  the  fields  were  so  delightful  and  frolic- 

[134] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

some  that  I  was  only  half  ready  when  Angela's  voice 
came  up  the  stairs  from  the  hall. 

"We  are  ready,  Hazel,  and  waiting." 

"Coming,"  I  shouted  as  I  slipped  into  my  black 
coat  and  skirt. 

I  could  have  wished  for  something  different,  but 
when  the  pale  blue  beaver  surmounted  them  and  I 
saw  the  sweeping  curl  of  the  ostrich  feather  on  my 
hair  I  felt  somewhat  comforted.  Never  before  had 
such  a  lovely  hat  descended  upon  Heatherland.  "It 
will  gasp,"  I  said  to  myself.  "  Rosabel  will  be  simply 
green." 

I  paused  and  studied  myself  for  a  moment  in  the 
mirror.  Was  the  tall,  black  figure  confronting  me 
graceful  or  merely  weedy  ?  The  section  of  my  brain 
which  is  given  over  to  vanity  whispered  "Graceful," 
but  the  minute  cell  of  my  consciousness  which  contains 
a  fragment  of  truthfulness  shouted  out,  "  No,  merely 
weedy." 

"Quite  right,"  I  said  with  a  sigh;  "merely  weedy. 
I  must  drink  more  milk  and  become  graceful." 

"  Hazel,  are  you  coming  ?  "  came  Angela's  voice. 

"Angela,"  I  said,  as  I  walked  slowly  down  the 
stairs  buttoning  my  new,  white  gloves,  "  it  is  vulgar  to 
shout.  You  have  often  told  me  so.  It  is  a  bad  ex- 
ample for  Rose  and  Elizabeth.  Besides,  it  does  not 
look  well  to  arrive  at  a  place  on  the  stroke  of  the  hour. 
It  looks  greedy.  It  looks  as  though  we  didn't  get 
enough  to  eat." 

[135] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

But  Angela  missed  the  latter  part  of  my  sentence. 
Her  neat  brown  figure  had  vanished  through  the 
front  door,  which  seemed  a  pity.  Advice  is  so  good 
for  one  at  times. 

"You  shouldn't  tease  your  sister  so,"  said  mother 
with  a  sigh.  "I  wish  you  two  were  fonder  of  each 
other." 

"Mother,  darling,  you  might  as  well  wish  that  a 
bee  and  a  cricket  would  consent  to  keep  house  to- 
gether." 

"Which  is  the  bee?"  said  mother  with  a  show  of 
interest. 

"Angela  is,"  I  replied.  "She  is  always  busy,  and 
is  always  storing  up  food  for  the  winter  in  the  shape 
of  jams  and  pickled  cabbage,  bottled  fruits  and  pic- 
kled eggs;  and  in  addition  she  secretes  a  sharp  sting 
somewhere  about  her  person." 

"  And  you  are  the  cricket  ?  " 

"Yes,  I'm- 

" '  The  silly  young  cricket,  accustomed  to  sing 
Through  the  warm,  sunny  months  of  gay  summer  and  spring, 
Who  began  to  complain  when  she  found  that  at  home 
Her  cupboard  was  empty  and  winter  had  come.'  " 

"Yes,"  said  mother,  "you  are  certainly  the  cricket. 
You  are  lazy  and  very  naughty." 

I  laughed  and  hugged  her. 

"Mother,"  I  said,  "if  you  look  at  me  like  that  I 
am  bound  to  hug  you." 

"  How  do  you  like  my  new  bonnet  now  it's  altered  ?  " 
[136] 


HAZEL   OF  HEATHERLAND 

she  inquired  anxiously  as  we  followed  Angela  through 
the  gate. 

"I  think  it's  a  perfect  duck,"  I  replied;  "and  no 
wonder  Mr.  Inderwick  invited  you  to  tea.  Chaperon, 
indeed!  A  man  like  that  doesn't  worry  his  head 
about  chaperons." 

Mother  looked  pleased. 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  don't  think  he  would." 

The  sun  was  shining  brightly  upon  us  as  we  walked 
along  the  Old  Hall  road  and  through  a  dear  little 
footpath  across  the  fields  to  the  house.  We  passed 
the  farmyard,  with  its  nice-smelling  hay-stacks;  and 
geese  hissed  at  us,  and  turkeys  gobbled  and  strutted 
about  in  complete  contentment,  little  recking  of  the 
proximity  of  Christmas  with  its  attendant  sausages 
and  bread  sauce. 

"I  like  farmyards,"  I  said,  "and  farmhouse  kitch- 
ens with  their  old  oak  settles,  and  hams  hanging  from 
the  blackened  rafters,  and  blazing  fires  with  great 
haunches  of  venison  turning  in  front  of  them;  and 
the  dairy  round  the  corner,  full  of  cream  and  delicious 
yellow  butter  and  eggs." 

"When  butter  is  made  at  a  farm  the  milk  is  gener- 
ally poor  and  the  cream  thin,"  remarked  Angela  prac- 
tically as  she  rang  the  front-door  bell. 

"What  a  lovely  hall!"  I  whispered;  but  mother 
and  Angela  were  far  too  taken  up  with  the  maid- 
servant's appearance  to  listen  to  me. 

"She's  dressed  to-day,"  I  heard  mother  whisper. 
[137] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Yes,  but  her  cap  is  much  too  jaunty.  It  looks 
fast,"  answered  Angela  severely. 

I  thought  she  looked  charming,  but  didn't  say  so. 
We  were  shown  into  a  room  containing  four  arm- 
chairs, a  square,  solid  table,  a  bookcase,  and  a  large 
man  reclining  in  the  largest  armchair  I  have  ever 
met.  The  man  was  Mr.  Inderwick,  and  I  fancy  he 
was  asleep  from  the  way  he  started  up. 

After  greeting  us,  he  placed  mother  in  one  chair  with 
ax  hassock  at  her  feet,  which  was  very  thoughtful  of 
him.  Angela  in  another  with  a  cushion  at  her  back, 
which  made  me  want  to  smile.  Fancy  Angela  with  a 
cushion!  And  me  in  a  third,  without  either  cushion 
or  hassock.  He  didn't  say  much,  but  gave  one  the 
impression  he  was  working  hard. 

Then  he  seated  himself  and  heaved  a  sigh  of  satis- 
faction. 

"I  hope  you  are  all  comfortable,  and  if  you  want 
anything  please  ask  for  it,"  he  said  in  the  tones  of 
a  steward  on  board  a  ship. 

We  assured  him  we  had  never  been  so  comfortable 
in  our  lives,  and  I  meant  it.  The  chair  was  low  and 
roomy  and  deep,  and  the  room  gave  one  a  sense  of 
space  and  comfort  and  a  freedom  from  small  things 
which  fall  over.  On  the  mantelpiece  were  a  tall  jar 
of  chrysanthemums,  seven  pipes,  and  about  fifty  boxes 
of  matches  in  neat  little  piles  of  dozens.  A  large  blue 
bowl  rested  on  the  solid  table  at  Mr.  Inderwick's 
elbow,  and  in  it  was  tobacco  ash — nothing  else.  The 

[138] 


HAZEL   OF    HEATHERLAND 

bookcase  reached  from  floor  to  ceiling,  as  mother  de- 
scribed, and  books  of  every  size,  shape,  and  description 
filled  its  shelves,  all  in  perfect  order  and  neat  as  a  new 
pin.  The  carpet  was  warm  and  thick.  There  was 
nothing  else  in  the  room  excepting  the  chairs  we  sat 
upon. 

The  windows  were  bare  of  curtains,  and  the  Dee 
could  be  seen  stretching  away  like  a  wide,  silver  ribbon. 

"What  a  lovely  view!"  I  said,  as  I  stepped  to  the 
west  window. 

"Yes,  isn't  it  fine?"  he  replied.  "It  would  be  hard 
to  beat  those  fields  just  below  us,  and  then  the  river 
beyond  backed  by  the  Welsh  hills  and  a  sunset  once  a 
day." 

"  Not  always,"  I  said. 

"No,"  he  laughed,  "more's  the  pity.  But  what  I 
like  about  the  view  is,  that  the  fields  are  always  chang- 
ing color.  First,  they  are  a  vivid  green  before  the  grass 
is  cut;  then  they  turn  into  a  sort  of  silver-gray  green 
when  the  hay  has  been  carried ;  then  some  of  them  are 
gold  when  the  corn  is  ripening,  and  these  in  their  turn 
become  a  different  color  when  the  corn  has  been  cut; 
and  then  they  are  ploughed,  and  are  sad  and  brown; 
and  later  they  will  probably  be  covered  with  snow,  and 
I  shall  have  a  dazzling  white  world  to  gaze  upon." 

I  looked  at  him  in  quick  sympathy. 

"  You  like  fields  and  the  river  and  those  things  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  said  simply,  "I  do." 

A  little  cough  of  irritation  from  Angela  brought  me 
[139] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

back  to  my  chair,  and  the  smart  maid  arrived  at  the 
same  instant  with  tea. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  Mrs.  Egerton  says  as  you  didn't 
tell  her  about  the  ladies  coming  to  tea,  and  she  has  no 
cake;  but  she  has  sent  in  plenty  of  pertater  cakes  and 
hot  scones!  And  when  you  are  ready  for  more  will 
you  ring  ?  " 

The  maid's  voice  sounded  as  though  she  were 
repeating  a  well-learned  lesson  or  something  out  of  the 
Bible.  There  was  a  sad,  almost  reproachful  ring  in 
it,  and  Mr.  Inderwick  looked  guilty. 

He  drew  a  handkerchief  out  of  his  pocket.  It  con- 
tained two  knots,  and  he  eyed  them  gravely. 

"One  was  to  tell  Mrs.  Egerton  about  your  coming 
to  tea,  and  the  other — why,  what  was  the  other?" 
He  stroked  his  head,  and  became  lost  in  thought. 

"  Perhaps  the  other  was  to  remind  you  to  give  us  tea 
when  it  came,"  I  suggested  mildly,  and  Angela  frowned 
at  me  severely. 

He  chuckled  for  a  minute. 

"Perhaps  it  was,"  he  said.  "I'm  awfully  absent- 
minded,  Mrs.  Wycherley,  about  things,"  he  continued, 
putting  four  lumps  of  sugar  in  one  cup.  "And  I  am 
always  tying  knots  in  my  handkerchief,  and  sometimes 
it  takes  me  an  hour  or  so  to  remember  what  they  were 
for." 

"How  awkward,"  replied  mother,  with  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  milk-jug.  "Would  you  like  me  to  pour 
out  for  you  ?  " 

[140] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Thanks  awfully,"  he  said  gratefully.  "Was  I 
doing  anything  wrong  ?  " 

"Oh,  no,"  said  mother,  lying  bravely;  "but  I 
know  it's  a  task  gentlemen  don't  care  about,"  and 
rising,  she  took  his  place. 

His  relief  was  laughable  to  behold.  I  thought  I 
had  never  met  any  one  with  two  such  strongly  defined 
sides  to  his  character.  When  he  was  doing  nothing — 
merely  a  looker-on — he  was  calmness  and  coolness 
personified.  Put  him  in  the  position  of  host,  or  a 
worker,  which  brought  direct  attention  to  bear  upon 
him,  and  he  was  like  a  great  awkward  schoolboy. 

He  became  free-and-easy  at  once.  Mother  was 
the  hostess  for  the  time  being,  and  he  was  so  enter- 
taining, and  the  potato  cakes  were  so  buttery  and 
good,  that  I  felt  I  would  like  to  go  every  day  to  such 
tea-parties. 

How  much  jollier  men  were  than  women!  I  re- 
flected. Aunt  Menelophe  said  women  were  more 
interesting  than  men.  I  wondered  where  they  secreted 
themselves. 

He  interrupted  my  train  of  thought. 

"  You  are  better,  Miss  Hazel  ?  " 

" Quite,"  I  replied;  "but  how  did  you  know ?" 

"You  seem  to  like  potato  cakes.  I  am  glad,  as  I 
forgot  the  cake." 

"Mr.  Inderwick,"  I  said,  "you  shouldn't  comment 
upon  your  guests'  appetites." 

He  laughed. 

[141] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Was  I  commenting?  I  am  sorry.  I  thought  I 
only  said  that  I  was  glad  you  liked  potato  cakes. 
Will  you  have  another  ?  " 

"  Please,"  I  replied.  "  And  will  you  tell  me  why  you 
have  so  many  boxes  of  matches  on  your  mantelpiece  ?  " 

"  They  are  for  lighting  my  pipe." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  that  is  obivous.    But  why  so  many  ?  " 

"I  don't  call  that  number  many.  I  dislike  the 
feeling  of  being  short  of  matches.  Nothing  depresses 
me  more.  So  Mrs.  Egerton  has  instructions  to  put 
a  gross  of  Bryant  and  May's  on  my  mantelpiece  once 
a  week." 

"  So  there  is  no  room  for  ornaments  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  replied,  "  there's  no  room  for  ornaments." 

"How  nice!"  I  ejaculated.  "And  you  have  no 
Parian  jugs  to  wash  or  bronze  horses  to  dust  ?  " 

"  No.    What  are  Parian  jugs  ?  " 

I  had  quite  forgotten  mother  and  Angela.  I  realized 
there  was  somebody  in  the  world  who  hadn't  met  a 
Parian  jug. 

"  A  Parian  jug  is  white,"  I  said,  "  and  has  a  shaped, 
thin  spout;  and  on  the  body  part  of  the  jug  grapes 
and  pomegranates  grow,  and  round  the  neck  vine 
leaves  and  roses  cling.  And  once  a  week  you  have 
to  scrub  the  grapes  with  a  brush  and  soap  and  hot 
water,  and ' 

"Hazel,"  cried  mother  and  Angela  together  in 
shocked  tones,  "  how  can  you  ?  What  are  you  talking 
about  ?  Mr.  Inderwick  is  not  interested,  I  'm  s — 

[142] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"But  I  am,  Mrs.  Wycherley,"  interrupted  Mr. 
Inderwick,  "  vastly  interested.  Go  on,  Miss  Hazel." 

And  I  went  on.  The  blood  of  ancestors  who  had 
owned  and  loved  Parian  jugs  was  in  my  veins,  and  if 
/  could  not  extol  the  beauties  of  a  Parian  jug,  who 
could  ? 

"And  you  were  saying,"  Mr.  Inderwick  remarked, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  my  face,  "  that  you  take  a  brush 
and " 

"Yes,"  I  went  on,  "you  take  a  brush,  and  you 
worm  it  in  and  out  of  the  grapes  and  pomegranates, 
and  they  stand  forth  revealed  in  all  their  pure,  white 
beauty.  And  then  you  dip  the  jug  in  clean,  cold 
water;  and  you  wipe  it  tenderly  with  soft  linen;  and 
you  blow  upon  it  gently  to  dry  all  the  little  tendrils 
and  curves;  and  lastly  you  place  it  on  paper,  about 
two  feet  from  a  nice,  warm  fire,  to  complete  the  drying. 
And  then  you  return  it  carefully  to  its  own  particular 
spot  on  the  mantelpiece." 

"I  understand,"  said  Mr.  Inderwick  softly.  "And 
how  do  you  treat  bronze  horses  ?  I  am  anxious  to 
learn." 

"You  flick  them,"  I  said.  "You  flick  ihem  with 
a  little  brush  made  of  feathers.  And  the  legs  that 
paw  the  air  you  wipe  over  with  pure  olive  oil.  And 
you  twist  the  comer  of  a  duster  into  a  spiral  point, 
like  a  radish,  to  poke  into  its  eyes  and  mouth  and " 

"  Hazel,  I  am  going,"  said  mother  in  frigid  tones. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Inderwick,  I  am  sure  we  have  taken  up 
[143] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

your  time  long  enough.  And  you  cannot  possibly 
be  interested  in  our  private  household  affairs,"  came 
Angela's  silky  voice.  "  Good  afternoon." 

And  a  great  fear  fell  upon  me.  What  had  I  said? 
I  shivered  as  I  thought  of  the  walk  home.  I  was 
only  in  fun,  and  mother  would  never  let  me  come 
here  again. 

They  were  saying  good-by,  and  mechanically  I  fol- 
lowed them  to  the  door.  I  peeped  at  Mr.  Inderwick, 
and  saw  that  he  was  sorry  and  embarrassed  at  their 
annoyance. 

"Good-by,  Mrs.  Wycherley;  and  I  hope  you  will 
give  me  the  pleasure  of  taking  tea  again  with  me  some 
day,"  he  said  warmly. 

Then  he  shook  hands  with  Angela  and  me,  and 
was  it  fancy  that  he  held  mine  a  shade  longer  than 
is  usual  ?  Perhaps  it  was,  but  it  helped  me  to  endure 
the  home-going  lecture  with  some  small  degree  of 
fortitude. 

"What  a  jolly  tea!  I  have  enjoyed  myself,"  I  re- 
marked nervously  as  we  walked  across  the  fields. 

Then  the  flood-gates  of  Angela's  wrath  broke  upon 
me.  Mother  did  not  say  much.  I  took  her  arm  and 
whispered  I  was  sorry,  and  that  I  had  not  meant  to 
make  fun  of  the  jugs  and  horses  and  our  method  of 
cleaning  them.  But  Angela's  words  flowed  on  end- 
lessly. She  made  me  think  of  the  Amazon  and  other 
long  rivers  when  they  overflow  their  banks,  and  I  mar- 
velled at  her  complete  mastery  of  the  English  language. 

[144] 


CHAPTER  XII 

On  Wash-Days 

TO-DAY  is  dreary  and  dark.  A  white  mist 
broods  over  the  garden,  and  all  the  little 
arbutus  trees  and  laurustinus  bushes  are 
dripping  with  moisture,  and  the  mist  creeps  and  creeps 
and  crawls  across  the  lawn  like  a  white  wraith,  and 
enfolds  the  privet  hedge  and  the  naked  rose-bushes 
in  a  dense,  white  shroud. 

November  seems  to  be  mourning  and  weeping  for 
the  dead  summer,  and  the  garden  is  desolate  and 
depressed. 

Mother  and  Angela,  too,  are  very  depressed.  For 
this  is  Monday — magic  word  meaning  wash-day! 
And  the  mist  broods  and  clings  and  refuses  to  lift. 
And  how  can  clothes  dry  in  a  mist?  How  can  they 
dry  when  the  air  contains  no  drying  properties  ? 

Angela  has  just  remarked,  for  the  third  time  in  the 
space  of  half  an  hour,  that  the  wash-day  must  be 
postponed.  There  is  a  hopeless  ring  in  her  voice. 
She  looks  at  the  clock  anxiously.  Time  is  getting 
on.  Mrs.  Flutterby  is  waiting  in  the  kitchen  for  the 
final  decision — "to  be  or  not  to  be?"  The  tubs  stand 
in  expectant  rows  in  the  wash-house.  The  mangle  has 
10  [  145  ] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

been  oiled  in  its  machinery  parts,  and  its  rollers  have 
been  scrubbed  and  cleansed.  The  dolly-peg  stands 
firmly  on  its  three  legs  and  says,  "Here  I  am  ready 
for  anything!"  Packets  of  Reckitt's  Blue,  and  Hud- 
son's Soap  and  Moonrise  Soap  and  several  other  soaps 
are  neatly  stacked  ready  to  do  execution.  The  linen 
has  been  put  in  soak.  All  is  ready.  And  still  the 
mist  hangs  above  a  dank,  sodden  world. 

While  mother  and  Angela  discuss  sadly  the  vagaries 
of  pur  English  climate  I  have  crept  away.  My  opinion 
on  the  really  important  things  of  this  life  is  never  asked 
for  by  my  family.  Should  it  be  given  by  me  unsought, 
it  is  not  considered  or  valued,  nor  does  it  carry  any 
weight.  When  I  suggested  that  the  wash-day  should 
be  put  off,  Angela  snapped,  "Impossible.  Mrs.  Flut- 
terby  has  arrived."  And  when  I  said  mildly,  "Well, 
then,  why  doesn't  she  begin  ?  "  mother  replied,  "  Don't 
ask  foolish  questions.  Look  at  the  mist."  And  when 
once  again,  from  a  sheer  spirit  of  inquiry,  I  asked, 
"  Couldn't  the  clothes  be  dried  before  the  kitchen  fire 
for  once  ? "  they  simply  looked  at  me  as  though  I  had 
suggested  that  the  clothes  should  be  dried  by  the  fires  of 
hell.  "Well,"  I  persisted  doggedly,  "why  shouldn't 
they  be  dried  in  the  kitchen?  Other  people's  clothes 
are  dried  in  kitchens.  Why  shouldn't  ours?"  And 
then  they  asked  me  if  I  had  ever  noticed  the  color  of 
other  people's  linen.  Did  other  people's  linen  look  as 
though  it  had  been  dried  in  the  pure,  sweet  air?  Did 
it  look  white  as  the  driven  snow?  Did  it  look  clean 

[146] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

and  wholesome?  Or  did  it  look  gray  and  yellow  and 
dirty?  "It  would  be  the  thin  edge  of  the  wedge," 
said  Angela.  "Once  allow  the  clothes  by  the  kitchen 
fire,  and  Mrs.  Flutterby  would  be  always  hankering 
after  the  kitchen  fire." 

Such  reasoning  I  could  not  follow,  so  I  stole  away. 
Up  here  it  is  chilly,  but  it  is  peaceful,  and  I  can  reflect 
on  life  and  upon  the  things  that  make  up  life. 

A  wash-day  has  always  been  the  most  important 
event  in  our  lives.  When  I  look  back  upon  the  years 
that  are  gone,  each  Monday  stands  out  clear  and 
distinct.  In  fact,  I  sometimes  feel  my  whole  life  has 
been  composed  of  Mondays.  If  I  close  my  eyes  I  can 
see  mother's  nightgown  bellying  in  the  wind,  or  the 
pantry  tea-cloths  waving  about  in  their  exuberance  at 
being  released  from  the  dolly-tub. 

Every  Sunday  morning  in  church  I  clasp  my  hands, 
and  pray  fervently  that  Monday  will  be  fine,  that  a 
nice,  fresh  wind  will  blow  to  dry  the  clothes,  that  the 
sun  may  be  strong  to  bleach  and  whiten  them,  that 
Mrs.  Flutterby  will  be  punctual  to  arrive  and  not 
thirst  after  too  much  ale  throughout  the  day. 

I  say  this  in  the  Litany  when  the  congregation  is 
interceding  for  the  Royal  Family.  I  am  not  disloyal, 
but  the  family  washing  naturally  affects  the  tenor  of 
my  life  more  than  the  welfare  of  a  mere  king  or  queen. 

Should  my  prayer  be  answered,  and  Monday  prove 
fine  and  sunny  and  dry,  mother  and  Angela  soar  to 
great  heights  of  happiness.  And  a  feeling  of  exhilara- 

[147] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

tion  pervades  the  air,  such  as  one  never  experiences 
on  ordinary  days  of  the  week.  As  the  scent  of  Moon- 
rise  Soap  greets  our  nostrils,  Angela  becomes  almost 
buoyant.  And  as  the  fumes  of  ammonia  steal  from  the 
wash-house  up  the  steps  and  along  the  passages  and 
hall  into  the  dining-room,  she  and  mother  exchange 
glances  and  smile  contentedly,  for  does  it  not  mean 
that  Mrs.  Flutterby  is  washing  the  woollens  in  the 
most  approved  and  accepted  fashion  ? 

^About  ten  o'clock  I  surprise  them  in  furtive  glances 
directed  toward  the  window.  This  is  the  hour  when 
Elizabeth  should  pass  with  the  first  batch  of  clothes 
to  the  drying-ground  in  the  croft.  Should  she  be 
late  Angela  begins  to  fidget  and  mother  glances  at 
the  clock.  What  is  the  cause  of  the  delay?  Has 
Mrs.  Flutterby  been  gossiping  with  Elizabeth,  or 
has  she  been  indulging  in  too  extensive  a  lunch? 
She  breakfasts  at  six,  and  washes  a  complete  family 
of  children  and  cleans  a  house  before  she  comes  to 
us  at  eight,  so  an  early  lunch  is  necessary.  This  desire 
for  numerous  meals  causes  Angela  acute  distress  each 
week.  It  is  not  the  food  she  grudges,  but  the  time 
expended  in  eating  it;  and  Mrs.  Flutterby's  conversa- 
tional abilities  are  undoubtedly  phenomenal. 

During  our  midday  dinner,  which  is  necessarily 
cold  on  wash-days,  mother  and  Angela  invariably 
discuss  soap.  In  their  secret  hearts  I  am  convinced 
that  each  is  of  the  opinion  that  Moonrise  Soap  con- 
tains soda,  but  neither  will  allow  it.  The  clothes  are 

[148] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

a  beautiful  color,  fair  and  white,  and  unsurpassed  in 
Heatherland,  so  whatever  ingredients  the  soap  may 
contain  they  are  loth  to  give  it  up.  Then  it  has  become 
clear  to  me  that  Angela  has  a  leaning  toward  trying 
a  new  starch  called  "Tomtit,"  which  according  to  its 
advertisements,  imparts  a  marvellous  gloss  to  the 
linen.  Mother,  however,  says  that  her  mother,  grand- 
mother, and  great  grandmother  used  "Stiffrill's" 
starch  to  the  end  of  their  days,  and  what  was  good 
enough  for  them  is  good  for  anybody.  At  first  she  said 
this  in  very  decided  tones,  but  each  Monday  she  visi- 
bly weakens  in  her  argument.  Angela  is  gradually 
wearing  her  down.  It  is  never  my  sister's  method  to 
get  her  own  way  too  quickly.  She  believes  in  the  old 
adage  that  continual  dropping  wears  away  a  stone. 
Mother  is  only  of  red  sandstone  durability  where  An- 
gela is  concerned,  and  she  is  wearing  away  rapidly.  I 
am  as  convinced  as  Angela  that  by  Christmas  we  shall 
be  stiffening  the  collars,  cuffs,  and  serviettes  with 
"  Tomtit "  Starch. 

I  remember  when  I  was  about  sixteen,  once  playing 
a  cruel,  practical  joke  upon  mother  and  Angela. 
Rushing  into  the  dining-room  I  breathlessly  announced 
that  Mrs.  Flutterby  was  boiling  the  blankets. 

I  never  knew  before  that  mother  and  Angela  could 
run  so  quickly.  And  unfortunately  Angela  tripped 
in  her  exceeding  haste,  and  fell  down  the  wash-house 
steps  into  a  tub  of  blue.  When  I  saw  her  emerge, 
such  a  fear  overwhelmed  me  that  my  teeth  chattered. 

[149] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

I  did  not  wait  to  listen  to  her  conversation.  I  just 
bolted  to  the  most  inaccessible  corner  of  the  garden, 
where  I  lay  down  under  some  big  rhubarb  leaves  and 
said  my  prayers.  I  lay  there  for  the  rest  of  the  day 
alternately  praying  and  eating;  for  dear  Sammy,  who 
discovered  me,  brought  me  an  apple  pasty  from  his 
own  larder,  so  I  was  well  nourished.  When  it  was 
dark  I  crept  into  the  house  to  bed,  but  my  sleep  was 
fitful.  And  when  the  next  morning  I  was  informed 
that  I  must  write  out  twenty  French  verbs  after  school 
hours  I  did  not  rush  at  them  with  eagerness.  In 
fact,  I  suggested  apologizing  to  Angela  instead,  which 
proved  that  I  must  have  felt  pretty  slack.  Drawing, 
quartering,  and  hanging  would,  as  a  rule,  have  been 
an  infinitely  more  attractive  punishment  to  me  than 
apologizing.  My  proposal  was  accepted,  and  with 
murder  in  my  heart  I  stood  before  Angela  and  repeated 
the  set  formula — "  Please,  Angela,  I  am  very  sorry,  and 
I  hope  you'll  forgive  me."  I  never  waited  to  hear  her 
assurance  of  forgiveness  on  those  trying  occasions,  all 
I  wanted  was  to  get  away  and  hit  something  hard  and 
roll  the  lawn.  Rolling  the  lawn  was  usually  the  best 
sedative  after  too  much  of  Angela. 

I  have  just  been  downstairs  and  find  that  wash-day 
is  off.  They  are  moderately  cheerful,  and  are  discuss- 
ing the  rearrangement  of  the  week's  work;  for,  of 
course,  if  the  washing  be  done  to-morrow  instead  of 
to-day  the  ironing  must  be  done  on  Wednesday,  and 
Wednesday's  work  done  on  Thursday,  and  Thurs- 
[150] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

day's  on  Friday,  and  Friday's  to-day,  for  it  could  not 
be  got  in  on  Saturday — kitchen-cleaning  day.  Oh, 
dear!  I  am  getting  quite  dizzy.  What  I  mean  is,  Fri- 
day's work  must  be  done  to-day,  which  is  a  grave  step 
to  take,  for,  as  Angela  has  just  remarked,  to  clean  the 
bath  room,  lavatory,  hall,  landings  and  stairs,  and  silver 
on  a  Monday  instead  of  Friday  seems  like  reversing  the 
laws  of  Nature.  Bath  rooms  are  always  cleaned  on 
Friday  mornings  and  silver  on  Friday  afternoons,  and 
this  rule  has  been  in  force  since  the  beginning  of  time. 
If  Moses  possessed  a  bath  room — and  probably  he  did, 
for  he  was  great  on  sanitary  laws — his  wife  Zipporah 
would  say  to  him,  "  Moses,  will  you  go  out  for  a  bit  and 
talk  to  the  children  of  Israel,  for  I  want  to  get  the 
bath  room  and  stairs  cleaned,  and  you  are  in  the  way; 
and  don't  forget  to  wipe  your  feet  on  the  mat  when  you 
come  in,  for  the  wilderness  is  dirty  at  this  time  of  the 
year." 

Now  I  must  go.  I  can  hear  Angela  calling.  She 
imagines  I  have  been  dusting  my  room  all  this  time. 
It  must  be  nice  to  have  a  vivid  imagination. 

These  last  few  days  have  been  dull,  and  Angela  has 
often  referred  to  my  lapse  of  good  manners  at  the  Old 
Hall  Farm.  "Never  discuss  your  private  affairs  in 
public,"  she  says;  "never  be  personal." 

I  have  not  come  across  Mr.  Inderwick  since  that 
evening,  though  I  have  been  on  many  walks.  Once  I 
saw  him  ride  past  the  front  gate,  and  he  stared  at 
our  windows.  I  was  behind  the  curtains,  and  had  a 

[151] 


good  look  at  him.  It  is  so  difficult  to  do  this  when 
you  are  with  him,  he  has  such  a  direct,  disconcerting 
way  of  staring  back  at  you.  He  is  ugly,  undoubtedly; 
at  least,  Angela  says  he  is.  But  I  am  not  so  sure  of  it 
myself.  He  reminds  me  one  moment  of  a  rugged, 
craggy  rock — strong,  taciturn,  reticent,  moody,  rude 
almost;  and  the  next  of  a  smiling,  placid,  gentle 
declivity — full  of  soft  places  and  unexpected  sym- 
pathies, light-hearted,  kind,  frank,  and  almost  boyish. 
His  clothes  are  abominable — unb  rushed,  wrinkly, 
with  baggy  pockets  and  hunching  shoulders.  His 
figure  is  heavy  almost  to  ungainliness.  His  legs — and 
he's  always  in  knickerbockers — are  big  and  his  hands 
and  feet  are  large.  But  when  once  you  meet  his  direct 
frank  gaze  and  big,  broad  smile,  and  hear  his  whole- 
some, deep-toned  laugh,  you  forget  all  the  ugliness  and 
ruggedness  and  uncouthness.  You  just  feel  he'd  be  a 
good  friend ;  a  man  who'd  pull  you  through  your  tight 
places;  a  man  to  rely  upon  and  trust;  a  man  with  a 
big  mind  in  a  big  case,  who  would  never  do  a  mean 
thing  or  ever  say  a  small  one;  and  a  man  who,  if  he 
wanted  a  thing,  would  probably  never  give  in  till  he 
had  got  it. 


[152] 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Mr.  Inderwick  Accompanies  me  to  Gayton  to  Buy 
Butter 

I  AM  experiencing  an  unwonted  sensation  of  exhila- 
ration and  satisfaction.  Mr.  Inderwick  and  I  have 
been  for  a  walk  together,  and  up  to  the  present 
Angela  does  not  know  anything  about  my  misde- 
meanor, as  she  would  term  it.  She  will  know  sooner 
or  later.  Everything  is  known  by  everybody  about 
everybody  in  Heatherland  if  you  give  it  time.  Quite 
ten  faces  peeped  out  from  behind  curtains  and  through 
doors  as  we  passed  along  the  village,  and  the  owners 
of  those  ten  faces  naturally  possess  ten  tongues,  and 
some  of  them  are  of  great  length. 

Angela  thought  I  was  getting  the  butter  at  Gayton. 
So  I  was;  but  Mr.  Inderwick  was  with  me,  of  which 
she  certainly  would  not  approve.  Mr.  Inderwick  is 
a  man  and  I  am  a  girl;  therefore  we  should  not  take 
walks  together. 

It  seems  unfortunate  that  men  and  women  cannot 
be  on  terms  of  any  degree  of  intimacy  with  one  another 
unless  they  are  married,  and  then  they  don't  appear 
to  want  to  be  intimate. 

Was  it  from  a  sense  of  facetiousness  that  Mrs. 

[153] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

Butterworth  started  to  make  butter  more  worth  one- 
and-sixpence  a  pound  than  any  other  in  the  district  ? 

"It  is  a  cruel  price,"  sighed  mother,  as  she  dived 
into  the  intricacies  of  her  petticoat  for  her  purse.  "  In 
my  young  days  you  could  get  beautiful  fresh  for  a 
shilling." 

"Yes,  but  think  of  the  price  of  sugar  and  tea  in 
those  days,"  I  responded  cheerfully;  but  she  refused 
to  be  cheered. 

^  "It  was  better  tea  and  much  better  sugar.  There 
was  none  of  that  dreadful,  deceptive  beet  on  the 
market,  and  the  tea  was  not  a  mixture  of  chopped  hay 
and  tannin." 

"Well,  perhaps  proportionately  Mrs.  Butterworth's 
butter  at  one-and-sixpence  is  much  superior  to  that 
for  which  you  paid  a  shilling,"  I  suggested. 

Mother's  head  shook  gloomily. 

"No,  it  isn't,"  she  said;  "nothing  is  better." 

I  felt  unequal  to  grappling  with  such  pessimism,  so 
I  kissed  her  on  the  forehead  and  left  her  to  Angela, 
who  entered  the  room  with  the  week's  mending  in 
her  arms. 

"They  will  be  happy  with  that,"  I  said  to  Dibbs, 
who  circled  in  front  of  me  down  the  garden  walk,  and 
Dibbs  barked  "So  they  will." 

"Do  you  think  they  would  mend  me  my  stockings, 
Dibbs,  if  I  asked  them  nicely  ?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Dibbs,  looking  doubtful. 

I   returned   to  the   dining-room.      Mother,   with  a 

[154] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

darning  needle  in  her  hand,  and  her  feet  on  a  hassock, 
sat  with  a  beatific  expression  on  her  countenance. 

"  Mother,  will  you  mend  me  my  stockings  ?  "  I 
asked  boldly. 

"Don't  encourage  Hazel  in  her  laz , "  began 

Angela ;  but  mother  smiled  at  me  in  acquiescence,  and, 
brushing  Angela  on  one  side,  I  just  took  her  in  my 
arms. 

"  Mother,"  I  said,  "  I  do  love  you.  You  are  kind  to 
me.  I  do  so  hate  mending  stockings;  it  is  not  laziness." 

"No — it  is  not  laziness?"  said  mother,  laughing. 
"What  is  it  then?" 

"Sheer  inability.  I  simply  can't  mend  stockings. 
They  pucker  up,  and  draw  and  drag,  and  get  bodgy, 
and  won't  mend  properly." 

"No,"  said  mother,  "they  won't.  I  redarned  the 
ones  you  did  last  week." 

"  Did  you  ?  But  what  a  waste  of  time  for  two  people 
to  mend  one  pair  of  stockings!  Doesn't  it  seem  so  to 
you?" 

"  Perhaps.    You  are  very  tricky,  Hazel." 

"Am  I?"  I  laughed,  as  I  kissed  her  again.  "You 
have  to  be  when  you  live  with  two  such  wonderfully 
clever,  good  women." 

Then  I  whistled  Dibbs,  who  was  waiting  in  the 
hall  with  the  whole  cares  of  the  world  on  his  shoulders, 
and  once  more  we  sallied  forth. 

"Now,  Dibbs,"  I  ordered  sternly,  "you  must  behave 
to-day.  No  rabbits.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

[155] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Yes,"  said  Dibbs,  as  he  gave  chase  to  a  yellow  cat 
which  suddenly  popped  up  from  nowhere. 

I  don't  mind  how  much  Dibbs  goes  for  cats.  Cats 
get  all  they  deserve — greedy,  sneaky,  bad-tempered, 
cupboard-love-for-you  sort  of  creatures. 

It  was  while  the  cat  was  swearing  horribly  on  a  wall 
and  Dibbs  was  barking  deliriously  at  the  base  of  the 
wall,  and  I  was  laughing  immoderately  in  the  middle 
of  the  village,  that  Mr.  Inderwick  walked  out  of  the 
post  office.  He  came  straight  to  me  in  his  heavy, 
direct  way. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ? "  he  inquired  as  we  shook 
hands. 

"  I  am  going  to  Gayton  for  butter,"  I  replied. 

"  May  I  walk  with  you  ?    I  am  going,  too." 

"  What  are  you  going  for  ?  "  I  asked. 

Such  direct  questions  must  be  met  with  equal  di- 
rectness. 

"  I  am  not  going  for  anything  specially,"  he  answered 
without  the  slightest  hesitation.  "I  just  felt  as  you 
were  going  I  would  go  too." 

"I  see,"  I  said  with  an  inward  gasp.  "Do  you 
usually  go  where  other  people  are  going  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.    It  depends  on  the  person." 

"  But  isn't  it  a  little  awkward  for  the  person  ? "  I 
queried. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  never  looked  at  it  in  that  light." 
Then  he  stopped  suddenly.  "  Don't  you  want  me  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  replied,  "I  want  you.  I  am  glad  of 
[156] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

your  society;  I  am  tired  of  lonely  walks.  But  what 
I  mean  is,  that  sometimes  if  you  insisted  upon  accom- 
panying a  person  upon  an  expedition,  that  person 
might  find  it  inconvenient." 

"  But  the  person  could  say  so." 

"Yes,  I  forgot  that.  But  then  shouldn't  you  be 
offended  ?  " 

"No.  Why  should  I?  I  don't  get  offended  about 
things." 

"  Don't  you  ?  "  I  replied.  "  How  nice !  I  am  always 
getting  hurt  and  offended  at  something  or  other." 

"That  is  a  pity,"  he  said  gravely.  "Life  is  too 
short  to  be  offended  with  people  about  trifles.  But 
then  you  are  very  young." 

"  I  suppose  I  am — by  you." 

He  smiled  one  of  his  nice,  rare  smiles. 

"I  am  not  very  old,  I  am  thirty-five.  Does  that 
seem  very  old  to  you  ?  " 

"Pretty  old,"  I  replied  truthfully.  "I  shouldn't 
care  to  be  thirty-five." 

"  You  won't  mind  so  much  when  you  get  there." 

"  Yes  I  shall,  I  shall  mind  horribly.    I  am  a  woman." 

"  Do  all  women  mind  about  getting  old  ?  " 

"Every  one  of  them,"  I  answered  emphatically. 
"  There  are  one  or  two  liars  among  them  who  pretend 
they  don't.  But  they  do — some  more  than  others. 
Aunt  Menelophe  says  the  ones  who  have  been  beauti- 
ful mind  the  most  of  all.  Getting  old  is  a  real  grief  to 
them." 

{167] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Poor  things,"  he  remarked;  "one  feels  sorry  for 
them.  Can't  they  do  anything  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes.  They  paint  and  powder  and  massage, 
and  then  they  look  foolish." 

"I  didn't  mean  that;  I  meant,  couldn't  they  do 
something  to  fill  their  lives  ?  " 

"Yes.  Aunt  Menelophe  became  a  'looker-on' 
when  she  was  forty,  and  drank  tea  and  read  novels." 

"  That  doesn't  seem  much,"  he  said,  laughing. 
^'No,  it  doesn't;   but  really  she  only  pretends.    She 
is  always  doing  something  nice  and  kind  and  unselfish 
for  somebody.     She  leads  a  most  useful  life,  and  is  a 
perfect  dear." 

"  She  sounds  nice.    Tell  me  about  her,"  he  said. 

That  is  a  way  Mr.  Inderwick  seems  to  have.  He 
doesn't  appear  rude  or  curious;  he  is  just  interested 
in  things  and  is  so  quiet  and  grave  and  never  inter- 
rupts, that  you  rattle  away  and  tell  him  everything 
before  you  know  you  are  even  talking. 

I  told  him  of  Butterby  and  the  ghost  and  Aunt 
Menelophe,  and  the  Potteries  and  the  dinner  party, 
and  how  I  dreaded  coming  home,  and  the  candle 
grease;  and  then  I  stopped  suddenly,  and  went  hot 
all  over.  Here  was  I  talking  of  our  private  affairs, 
discussing  little  home  matters,  saying  everything 
Angela  said  I  ought  not  to  say.  It  was  bad  form  to 
discuss  personalities  with  a  stranger.  It  was  in  bad 
taste,  so  she  had  said;  and  here  was  I  outraging  all 
refinement  of  feeling. 

[158] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Mr.  Indenvick,  without  looking  at  me 

"  Oh,  that's  all,"  I  replied  hurriedly. 

"Rather  an  abrupt  ending,"  he  said,  turning  and 
smiling. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied  lamely. 

He  changed  the  subject  of  conversation  at  once. 
He  may  not  be  polished,  as  Angela  says,  but  he  is 
tactful. 

"Stop  at  this  gate  a  moment.  I  think  the  best  part 
of  a  lane  is  a  gate.  You  go  along  for  some  distance,  and 
you  enjoy  the  beauty  of  the  banks  and  hedges  and  the 
wrens  popping  in  and  out,  and  you  think  what  a  seduc- 
tive, beautiful  thing  is  a  narrow,  green  lane;  and  then 
a  feeling  comes  over  you  all  in  a  minute  that  you  want 
breathing  room,  you  want  space,  you  want  a  wider 
outlook,  and  lo  and  behold  a  gate  has  appeared.  You 
lean  over  it,  and  there  is  your  space.  Fields  lie  before 
you,  with  hills  beyond;  the  wide,  open  country  stretches 
away.  Your  sense  of  oppression  has  gone." 

He  leaned  against  the  gate  as  he  spoke,  and  I  fol- 
lowed his  gaze  across  the  fields  and  Dee  to  the  hills  in 
Wales  and  the  Point  of  Air. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  thought  I  was  the  only  person  in 
the  world  who  felt  like  that?"  I  said  softly.  "But 
I  couldn't  have  put  it  so  well." 

He  turned  one  of  his  long,  direct  gazes  upon  me. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  you  could.  You  could  have  put 
it  better.  For  you  are  young  and  impulsive  and  bub- 
bling over  with  spirit.  I  spoke  merely  of  a  physical 

[159] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

feeling.  I  want  plenty  of  fresh  air,  and  narrow  lanes 
are  stuffy.  Your  feeling  is  purely  mental.  You  are 
cramped,  dwarfed,  suffocated.  You  want  to  do  some- 
thing, you  don't  know  what.  You  want  to  go  some- 
where. You  are  tired  of  Heatherland  and —  '  he 
hesitated — "  Parian  jugs." 

"Yes,"  I  cried  eagerly,  "that  is  it.  But  how  did 
you  know  ?  Do  you  feel  cramped  ?  Do  you  want  to 
do  something  too?  Are  you  tired  of  your  narrow 
life?" 

He  looked  at  the  hills  for  a  moment  thoughtfully. 

"No,  thank  God,"  he  answered  presently,  "I  don't 
want  to  do  anything.  I  am  thankful  to  sit  down  in 
my  armchair  and  smoke  and  read.  I  am  jolly  grateful 
to  Old  Crabby  that  he  has  left  me  in  a  position  to  be  a 
'looker-on.'  Once  I  felt  as  you  do.  It  was  a  worry- 
ing, uncomfortable  sensation;  but  time  and — trouble 
and  hard  work  knock  it  out  of  you." 

"  Have  you  had  trouble  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Lots !    Damnable  trouble ! " 

He  did  not  appear  to  be  conscious  that  he  had 
sworn.  Neither  did  he  apologize.  He  studied  the 
little  fishing-boats  sailing  along,  with  an  absent  eye. 
He  was  lost  in  thought,  lost  to  the  world,  lost  to  me 
and  Dibbs. 

I  studied  him  as  he  stared  at  the  boats.  Yes,  he 
had  suffered;  there  was  no  doubt  about  that.  His 
dark,  thick  hair  was  flecked  with  gray — round  the 
ears  it  was  white.  There  were  deep  lines  round  his 

[160] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

mouth,  deep  parentheses,  and  deeper  lines  still  on 
his  forehead.  A  stern,  rugged  face — full  of  strength, 
unlovely  in  repose,  perhaps,  with  its  square  chin, 
clean-shaven,  and  knitted  eyebrows;  but  how  won- 
derfully attractive  when  it  was  lit  up  by  that  rare 
smile ! — a  smile  that  lingers  in  the  memory. 

"Mr.  Inderwick,"  I  said  presently,  "should  you 
mind  coming  back  to  the  world  ?  I  have  butter  to 
buy  at  Gayton,  and  the  time  is  getting  on." 

He  came  back  slowly.  Then  he  gave  his  big  shoul- 
ders a  shake,  and  stooped  and  patted  Dibbs.  Pres- 
ently he  looked  at  me  and  smiled. 

"  Have  I  kept  you  ?  I  am  sorry.  I  had  forgot- 
ten  " 

"My  existence,"  I  interrupted,  as  I  moved  away 
from  the  gate. 

"  No,  I  hadn't,  I  was  thinking  of  you." 

"  May  I  ask  in  connection  with  what,  for  you  looked 
sad?" 

"  Did  I  ?  I  was  thinking  of  a  little  sister  of  mine 
who  also  wanted  to  see  'life,'  and  went  under." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  "  I  asked  softly. 

"She  was  always  a  restless  little  soul  with  big 
aspirations.  A  quiet  life  in  the  countiy  did  not  satisfy 
her.  Then  when  my  father  died  she,  as  well  as  I,  had  to 
work  for  our  mother.  I  had  just  been  called  to  the 
Bar,  and  briefs  seemed  to  shy  away  from  me.  My 
little  sister  rushed  at  work  as  one  usually  rushes  at 
pleasure.  She  chose  the  stage  as  a  profession,  and  at 
11  [161] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

first  did  well;  she  was  uncommonly  pretty,  with 
laughing  sort  of  eyes  and  a  smile  like  a  bit  of  sunshine. 
Then  she  had  an  accident,  not  a  very  bad  one,  but  her 
face  and  one  side  of  her  neck  were  a  little  marked — 
it  was  a  fire.  After  that  her  engagements  began  to 
dwindle.  Managers  didn't  want  her;  her  looks  had 
gone.  I  don't  blame  them;  but  she  suffered  acutely. 
Then  she  took  to  nursery-governessing.  I  alone  could 
not  make  enough  at  that  time  to  keep  the  three  of  us. 
The  nursery-governessing  broke  her  spirit,  and  she 
died;  and  I  don't  wonder.  I  saw  the  woman  who  had 
employed  her,  and  I  saw  the  children — after  her  death 
— and  I  felt  she  was  better  at  rest.  But  had  I 

known "      He    broke    off    abruptly    and    set    his 

teeth. 

I  did  not  say  anything — there  seemed  to  be  nothing 
to  say — but  I  think  he  felt  my  sympathy. 

"  And  your  mother  ?  "  I  asked. 

"She  died  a  year  afterward  from  a  broken  heart. 
And  then  briefs  began  to  come  in  rapidly,  and  I  had 
any  amount  of  money  to  spend  on — flowers  for  their 
grave." 

We  walked  along  in  silence  for  some  time. 

"And  so,"  he  said  presently,  "I  am  always  sorry 
when  I  hear  of  young  girls  wanting  to  get  away  from 
home.  They  may  be  dull,  and  there  may  be  Parian 
jugs  to  wash;  but  at  least  there  is  some  one  to  take  an 
interest  in  them  and  look  after  them." 

"  Oh,  I  am  well  looked  after,"  I  observed. 
[162] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"You  say  it  as  though  you  didn't  like  it,"  he 
laughed. 

"I  don't." 

"And  yet  you  are  very  lucky,  if  you  only  knew  it." 

"  In  what  way  ?  " 

"  Why,  that  there  should  be  some  one  to  want  to 
look  after  you — to  be  interested  in  your  comings  and 
goings,  to  know  when  you  are  out,  to  give  you  a  wel- 
come when  you  come  in." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  receive  much  of  a  welcome 
from  Angela." 

"Perhaps  you  don't  deserve  it,"  he  said  with  a 
twinkle. 

"I  certainly  do  not  deserve  all  I  get  from  her  in 
the  way  of  rebuke." 

"  What  does  she  rebuke  you  about  ?  " 

"Everything,"  I  replied  with  emphasis,  "from  the 
mere  fact  of  my  existing  at  all  to  the  way  I  dust  the 
legs  of  the  drawing-room  chairs." 

"  Or  the  way,  perhaps,  you  don't  dust  them." 

"Yes,  that's  it,"  I  said. 

He  laughed. 

"What  a  jolly  little  place  Heatherland  is,  and  so 
pretty,"  he  said,  looking  across  the  river. 

I  looked  at  him  with  approval.  I  am  at  once  in 
touch  with  people  who  like  and  admire  our  village. 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "it  is  quite  one  of  the  loveliest 
spots  in  the  world." 

"  You  have  travelled  much  ?  " 
[163] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"No.  I  have  been  to  about  half  a  dozen  places  in 
my  life — Birkenhead,  Liverpool,  Chester,  Blongton, 
Stafford  and  Stoke,  and  a  few  small  villages.  Still,  I 
know  there  is  nothing  to  touch  Heatherland." 

He  seemed  amused. 

"  And  you  like  the  people  ?  " 

"I  dislike  the  people  exceedingly." 

"  Why  ?  "  he  asked  in  surprise.  "  I  think  they  seem 
a  very  nice,  decent  lot.  I  like  them,  they  are  so  kind 
and  hospitable." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "but  you  haven't  lived  with  them 
for  twenty-one  years.  Do  you  realize  what  it  is  to  live 
with  the  same  people  for  twenty-one  years,  and  nine 
out  of  every  ten  of  those  people  are  women?  Why, 
already  it  is  buzzed  all  over  Heatherland  that  Mr.  In- 
derwick  and  Miss  Hazel  WTycherley  are  taking  a  walk 
together  along  Gayton  Lane  this  afternoon." 

"Well,"  he  said,  "it's  very  kind  of  them  to  be  so 
interested  in  us." 

"Very,"  I  said. 

And  he  gave  one  of  his  gruff  chuckles,  and  went 
on  chuckling  for  some  minutes. 

"It  seems  to  amuse  you,"  I  remarked. 

"It  does.  After  living  in  London  and  being  swal- 
lowed up  in  a  vortex  of  surging  human  beings,  who 
know  nothing  about  you  and  care  less,  it  seems  posi- 
tively ridiculous  to  me  that  any  one  should  have  the 
time  or  inclination  to  be  interested  in  your  move- 
ments." 

[164] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Oh,  they've  plenty  of  time,"  I  said,  as  I  stopped 
at  Mrs.  Butterworth's  farm  and  knocked  at  the  door. 

Mrs.  Butterworth  is  precisely  the  kind  of  woman 
who  ought  to  keep  a  farm.  It  is  rarely  people  look 
their  profession.  Mrs.  Butterworth  does.  She  is 
plump  and  apple-cheeked,  and  smiling  and  cheery. 
That  she  keeps  cows  and  pigs,  and  horses  and  geese 
you  would  know  instinctively  at  one  glance.  Her 
very  mouth  gives  her  away.  You  can  see  it  is  in  the 
habit  of  saying  "  C — up !  c — up !  c — up ! "  when  she  is 
desirous  that  the  cows  shall  come  home  to  be  milked. 
Mrs.  Butterworth  says  "C — up"  when  Mr.  Butter- 
worth  and  the  farm-help  are  too  engaged  to  say  it. 
Her  real  province  in  life  is  to  make  butter  and  bread 
and  look  after  the  house,  and  "C — up"  is  only  a 
digression. 

"How  are  you,  Miss  Hazel?  Come  in.  And  how 
do  you  do,  Mr.  Inderwick?"  says  she,  bustling  in 
before  us  and  dusting  two  clean,  oak  chairs. 

Mr.  Inderwick  looks  surprised.  He  has  never 
seen  Mrs.  Butterworth  before  in  his  life,  or  heard  of 
her  till  two  hours  previously. 

Then  she  begins  to  talk,  and  tells  him  many  things 
about  his  movements  and  plans  and  doings  that  he 
evidently  did  not  know  himself. 

"And  you  are  goin'  to  try  sheep.  There's  many 
a  lot  of  us  as  try  sheep,  and  all  glad  to  see  the  last 
of  their  foolish,  starin'  faces." 

He  looked  puzzled,  and  passed  his  hand  over  his  hair. 
[165] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Littlewood,  your  new  bailiff,  was  a-sayin* 
you  were  goin'  to  keep  sheep,  and  Butterworth  he 
said  he  didn't  envy  you,  and  you'd  soon  be  rare  glad 
to  be  quit  of  them,"  and  Mrs.  Butterworth  poked  the 
fire  vigorously. 

"  Am  I  going  to  keep  sheep  ?  "  he  said  feebly. 

Mrs.  Butterworth  looked  at  him  a  little  pityingly. 

"  Well,  you  know  your  own  business  best.  I'm  only 
a-tellin'  you  what  Mr.  Littlewood  says  to  me." 

"Oh,  of  course,  of  course!  I  remember  now.  Of 
course  I  am  going  to  keep  sheep,"  he  remarked  hur- 
riedly. 

Mrs.  Buttenvorth  eyed  him  with  suspicion. 

"  Perhaps  you  don't  know  much  about  farmin'  ?  " 

"No,  I  don't,"  he  said  with  relief,  "that's  a  fact. 
Up  to  the  present  I  have  left  things  to  Litttewood.  A 
good  man  is  Littlewood,  Mrs.  Butterworth,  a  very 
good  man." 

"Yes,"  she  replied  dryly,  "Littlewood  is  a  good 
man,  but  he  wants  a  head." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  answered  nervously. 

"  And  you  are  goin'  to  learn  farmin'  ?  "  she  went  on 
with  firmness. 

"Yes,"  he  replied  meekly,  "I  will  learn  farming." 

"That's  right,"  she  said  heartily.  "Nothin'  like 
havin'  a  good  man  at  the  helm  in  farmin'.  For  what 
with  contendin'  with  the  Lord's  weather  which  He 
is  pleased  to  send  us  when  anythink  special  is  on, 

[166] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

such  as  haymakin'  and  cuttin'  the  corn,  and  what  with 
low  prices  and  the  markets  flooded  with  American 
horseflesh  and  inferior  wheat,  it  takes  a  farmer  all  his 
time  to  get  along  and  pay  his  way  and  have  a  half -hour 
to  spare  to  attend  a  harvest  festival.  And  now,"  she 
continued,  "you  must  have  a  cup  of  tea,  both  of  you. 
The  kettle's  boilin'  fit  to  drive  a  steam  engine." 

She  brought  forth  honey,  and  she  brought  forth 
milk,  and  she  brought  forth  oat-cakes  on  a  steaming 
hot  dish.  And  a  very  merry  party  we  were,  at  least 
Mrs.  Butterworth  and  I  were  merry,  while  Mr. 
Inderwick  was  silently  cheerful.  The  red-tiled  floor 
and  the  old,  blue  plates  and  pewter  pots  on  the 
dresser  and  mantelshelf  were  good  to  look  upon,  and 
the  old-fashioned,  comfortable  armchairs  very  good  to 
sit  in. 

"  But  we  must  go,"  I  said  at  the  end  of  an  hour,  "or 
mother  and  Angela  will  be  dragging  the  Puddydale  for 
my  body.  I  am  not  allowed  out  after  dark." 

We  returned  home  through  the  fields  above  the 
shore.  The  light  was  fading,  and  a  crescent  moon 
hung  in  the  sky  above  us.  There  was  a  slight  touch  of 
frost  in  the  air,  just  enough  to  whip  up  the  blood  in 
one's  cheeks  and  cause  them  to  glow. 

I  chattered  and  he  listened.  At  last  I  stopped  and 
said,  "  Won't  you  talk  now  for  a  change  ?  I  am  tired  of 
my  own  voice." 

"  Really  ?  "  he  asked  in  such  surprise  that  against  my 
inclination  I  laughed. 

[167] 


HAZEL   OP   HEATHERLAND 

"That  is  rather  nasty  of  you.  Do  you  think  I  am 
such  a  tremendous  chatterbox  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  replied  with  such  conviction  that  I  again 
laughed. 

"But  I  like  to  hear  you,"  he  went  on.  "Some  of 
what  you  say  is — excuse  me — nonsense,  but  I  enjoy 
it  nevertheless." 

"  Thank  you,"  I  said  with  sarcasm. 

"Now  please  don't  get  annoyed,"  he  laughed; 
"  that  is  the  worst  of  women,  they  are  so  touchy." 

"I  was  just  wondering  if  it  could  be  less  than  a 
month  I  have  known  you,"  I  observed. 

"No,  it  is  much  more — it  is  fourteen  years.  You 
forget  we  first  met  on  the  seashore." 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  say  good-by. 

"  Good-night,"  I  said,  laughing. 

I  was  half-way  up  the  steps,  when  he  called  me  back 
without  ceremony. 

"  One  moment.    Have  you  enjoyed  our  walk  ?  " 

"Yes,  thanks,"  I  replied,  "though  you  are  somewhat 
plain-spoken." 

He  waved  that  on  one  side. 

"I  have  tremendously.  We  will  go  another  some 
day  soon." 

"Will  we?" 

I  felt  suddenly  nervous. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  When  could  you  go  ?  We  used  to 
be  out  a  lot  together,  you  will  remember." 

"  I  was  a  little  girl  then,"  I  said  feebly. 
[168] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"  I  don't  think  you  are  much  more  now,"  he  replied, 
regarding  me  gravely.  "Anyway,  I  will  be  on  the 
look-out  for  you.  Good-by!"  And  then  he  went 
away. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

/  Tamper  Successfully  ivith  a  Keyhole  and  Lunch  at 
Piper's  Well 

HOW  the  months  race  by!"  I  said  at  breakfast 
this    morning.      "Can    it    be   possible    that 
December  is  with  us  ?  " 
And  Angela  replied : 

"Quite  possible,  and  we  must  get  the  raisins  stoned 
to-day  for  the  puddings." 

I  wished  I  had  not  mentioned  the  time  of  the  year. 
Angela  might  have  forgotten  it.  There  was  just  a 
ghost  of  a  chance  she  might  have  forgotten,  for  I  heard 
her  making  plans  with  mother  to  visit  Susan  Potts,  who 
had  a  thirteenth  little  Potts  yesterday.  The  Potts's 
baby  was  abandoned  at  once. 
"  It  can  wait,"  she  said. 

"  But  supposing  it  is  delicate,  and  dies  ?  "  I  suggested. 

I  too  had  been  making  plans,  and  certainly  stoning 

raisins  had  not  entered  into  them.    The  morning  was 

so  beautiful  and  fresh,  that  I  had  felt  it  would  be  sinful 

to  spend  it  in  a  house  with  four  women  and  furniture. 

"I  will  go  off  for  the  day  with  Dibbs,"  I  arranged 
with  myself.     "  We  will  take  a  meat  pasty  and  a  jam 

[170] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

turnover.  I  will  steal  them  from  the  larder  for  our 
lunch.  I  will  point-blank  refuse  to  do  a  single  thing  in 
the  way  of  housework,  and  just  as  Angela  is  hurrying 
off  to  tell  mother  of  my  insubordination,  I  will  slip 
quietly  out  of  the  front  door  and  be  half-way  along 
Sandy  Lane  before  she  can  draw  breath." 

"It  won't  die,"  said  Angela  with  decision.  "Mrs. 
Potts's  babies  don't  die.  And  if  it  did,  Mr.  Gates 
should  be  there  as  the  rector  of  the  parish,  and  not  I." 

"Are  there  any  raisins  in  the  store-cupboard?"  I 
next  asked  weakly.  "  I  noticed  there  were  not  many  in 
the  spotted  dog  pudding  we  had  the  other  day." 

Angela  looked  at  me  in  the  way  I  least  like  of  all 
her  looks. 

"Spotted  dog  is  never  made  of  raisins.  Surely  you 
must  know  that.  Currants  only  are  used,  and  there 
were  plenty  in  the  pudding.  I  ordered  the  raisins  for 
the  Christmas  puddings  and  mince-meat  a  week  ago. 
There  are  four  blue  bags  on  the  second  shelf  in  the  store- 
cupboard.  Will  you  kindly  get  them  out  while  I  set 
Rose  and  Elizabeth  their  work  for  the  day.  We  must 
have  a  little  extra  cleaning  done  as  Christmas  is  so 
close  at  hand." 

"Angela,"  I  cried  eagerly,  "couldn't  Rose  and 
Elizabeth  help  us  just  for  once  ?  We  should  get  through 
the  stoning  so  quickly  if  there  were  four  of  us  at  it." 

"Certainly  not,"  replied  my  sister,  snapping  her 
jaws  together.  "They  have  something  else  to  do. 
How  can  you  ask  such  a  futile  question  when  you 

[Hi] 


HAZEL   OF    HEATHERLAND 

know  it  takes  them  all  their  time  to  get  through  the 
work  as  it  is  ?  Now  will  you  get  the  raisins  and  make 
a  start  ?  They  will  take  us  at  least  four  or  five  hours  to 
stone.  I  am  making  an  extra  quantity  of  mince-meat 
this  year." 

I  watched  her  neat  figure  disappear  across  the  hall 
and  up  the  staircase.  What  an  unyielding  back  and 
determined  gait!  I  knew  I  might  as  well  argue  with 
a  piece  of  flint.  All  my  life  I  have  been  curiously 
obedient  to  Angela.  She  seems  to  possess  some  occult 
power  of  making  me  do  exactly  as  she  wishes.  With 
other  people  I  can  hold  my  own,  but  where  Angela  is 
concerned  I  am  as  weak  as  dish-water. 

My  feet  dragged  me  heavily  to  the  store-cupboard 
in  the  kitchen.  I  wished  the  key  would  break  in  the 
lock,  but  it  turned  like  greased  lightning.  Suddenly 
an  inspiration  came  straight  from  he — heaven.  I  am 
sure  it  was  from  heaven,  from  my  comfortable  sort  of 
peaceful,  happy  feeling.  Had  it  been  from  the  other 
place,  surely  I  should  have  had  twinges  of  remorse 
throughout  the  day,  and  I  can  truthfully  say  I  have 
never  had  one. 

Rose  and  Elizabeth  were  upstairs  making  beds. 
Angela  was  also  up  above  doing  her  duty  in  some 
shape  or  form.  Mother  was  in  the  garden  with  Sammy 
ordering  the  vegetables.  The  coast  was  clear.  On  tip- 
toe I  crept  to  the  back  door,  thence  to  the  gravelled 
walk,  from  which  I  selected  two  tiny  pebbles.  I  had 
no  intention  of  slinging  them  at  Angela  as  David  did 

[172] 


at  Goliath.  Murder  was  not  in  my  heart.  I  was 
merely  going  to  let  them  slip  into  the  keyhole  of  the 
store-cupboard.  I  tiptoed  back.  I  held  my  breath. 
Then  the  pebbles  seemed  of  their  own  accord  to  walk 
into  the  keyhole.  The  deed  was  done.  Only  a  lock- 
smith or  dynamite  could  have  opened  that  door.  I  sat 
down  on  the  Windsor  chair  and  swayed  about  with 
silent  laughter.  The  thought  of  Angela's  face  caused 
me  pain.  It  caught  me  in  the  ribs,  and  I  suffered 
considerably. 

Presently  I  controlled  myself  sufficiently  to  call  to  my 
sister  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  the  unfortunate  news. 

"The  key  won't  turn?" 

I  could  hear  the  surprise  in  her  voice. 

"No,"  I  cried;  "nothing  will  make  it." 

This  I  knew  to  be  true,  and  I  had  no  prickings  of 
conscience. 

"  It's  very  strange,"  muttered  Angela,  as  she  hurried 
down  the  stairs;  " let  me  try." 

And  she  did  try.  She  tried  for  half  an  hour,  and 
I  helped  her.  I  never  helped  her  so  much  in  my  life, 
and  almost  felt  sorry  for  her  as  I  saw  her  worried  face. 

Mother,  Rose,  and  Elizabeth  all  came  and  watched 
us;  and  then  they  tried  in  their  turn,  and  worked 
very  hard. 

"Bill  Bonnyman  must  be  fetched,"  said  Angela  at 
length. 

"He  is  certain  to  be  out,"  I  ventured;  "he  always 
is.  Shall  I  go  and  leave  a  message  for  to-morrow  ?  " 

[173] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

She  reflected  for  a  moment. 

"Yes,"  she  said  at  length,  "engage  him  to  come 
the  first  thing  in  the  morning.  We  can't  do  the  raisins 
to-day." 

"  Can't  we  ?  "  I  tried  to  make  my  voice  sound  regret- 
ful. "  What  about  getting  some  village  raisins  ?  " 

"On  no  account.  They  are  dreadful,  and  full  of 
bits  of  stone  and  grit." 

I  expected  this  answer,  and  walked  off  with  a  light 
heart. 

I  secreted  the  meat  pasty  and  jam  turnover,  and 
then  I  got  ready.  Elizabeth  was  cleaning  the  steps  at 
the  gate  as  I  went  out. 

"Elizabeth,"  I  said,  "will  you  tell  mother  I  shan't 
be  in  to  dinner  ?  As  there  are  no  raisins  to  stone  there 
is  nothing  for  me  to  do  to-day,  so  I  have  seized  the 
opportunity  of  taking  a  long  walk  with  Dibbs.  He 
badly  wants  exercise;  he  is  getting  so  fat  that  I  fear 
apoplexy  may  overtake  him." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Hazel,"  replied  Elizabeth,  as  she  rubbed 
her  hearthstone  from  one  side  of  the  wet  step  to  the 
other. 

What  I  like  about  Elizabeth  is  that  she  never  com- 
ments upon  my  movements,  as  do  Sammy  and  Rose. 
The  latter  would  have  said,  "  Eh,  Miss  Hazel,  have  you 
forgotten  it's  the  day  for  putting  clean  papers  on  the 
shelves  of  the  cupboard  in  the  dining-room?"  But 
Elizabeth  does  not  remind  me  of  such  trivial  matters. 
She  takes  a  wider  view  of  life.  She  knows  that  fresh 
IWJ 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

air  and  sunshine  are  much  more  essential  to  one's  well- 
being  than  superhuman  cleanliness  in  a  remote  cup- 
board. 

I  watched  her  as  she  swayed  her  body  across  the 
steps.  My  heart  warmed  to  her.  What  a  well-shaped 
arm  she  had,  and  such  a  kind,  refined  face. 

"Elizabeth,"  I  said  carelessly,  "you  need  not  say 
anything  about  my  having  gone  for  a  walk  for  at  least 
an  hour.  Miss  Angela  will  probably  go  and  see  Mrs. 
Potts's  new  baby,  and  that  is  the  way  I  am  going  after 
I  have  been  to  the  plumber's,  and — and  I  don't  care 
about  seeing  the  baby.  You  understand  ?  " 

"Yes,  Miss  Hazel,"  said  Elizabeth  imperturbably. 

"  Good-morning,  Elizabeth;  I  shall  be  back  to  tea." 

"Good-morning,  Miss  Hazel." 

As  I  walked  to  the  village  I  decided  that  a  pale-blue 
silk  scarf  would  suit  Elizabeth  admirably.  Christmas 
was  near,  and  I  would  spend  two-and-elevenpence  on  it 
instead  of  one-and-elevenpence,  the  sum  I  usually 
expended  on  presents  for  the  servants. 

Bill  Bonnyman  was  in.  I  stared  at  him  in  amaze- 
ment. The  first  plumber  who  has  ever  been  in  since  the 
world  cooled  down  sufficiently  to  support  life. 

"  Are  you  ill,  Bill  ?  "  I  inquired  kindly. 

"  No,  Miss  Hazelt.    Why  should  I  be  ill  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  just  thought  you  might  be,"  I  said.  "There 
is  a  good  deal  of  sickness  about." 

"  No,  thank  you  kindly,  I  was  never  better  in  my  life." 

"  That's  right.  I  have  come  to  know  when  you 
[176] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

could  call  to  open  the  store-cupboard  in  the  kitchen; 
the  key  won't  turn,  and  it's  very  awkward  not  being  able 
to  get  into  it." 

"Why,  I  can  come  right  away,  Miss  Hazelt,"  he 
said  warmly. 

"  Oh,  don't  hurry,  Bill,  don't  hurry,"  I  cried  hastily. 
"To-morrow  will  do  perfectly;  it  isn't  convenient 
to-day." 

I  felt  myself  going  red,  and  Bill  eyed  me  in  a  sur- 
prised way. 

"  Well,  it  would  suit  me  better  to  come  to-day.  I 
was  just  waitin'  for  a  job.  To-morrow  I  am  full  up. 
I  couldn't  come  for  two  or  three  days.  I'm  sorry  it 
don't  suit  you  to-day." 

"Yes,  it's  a  pity,  Bill;  but  the  fact  is,  I  shall  be  out, 

and — and "     I   paused   in   confusion,   and   Bill's 

eyes  rounded. 

Then  I  became  desperate. 

"  Look  here,  Bill,"  I  said  in  a  low  voice,  as  I  slipped 
a  shilling  into  his  hand,  "  you  will  probably  find  some- 
thing in  the  keyhole — crumbs  or  grit,  or  even  a  pebble. 
But  I  shouldn't  say  anything  about  it  if  I  were  you ;  it 
— it  would  only  worry  Mrs.  Wycherley  and  Miss  An- 
gela, and — well,  I  should  keep  quiet  about  it." 

I  held  my  breath.  I  hardly  dared  look  at  him.  Would 
he  wink  and  be  cheeky  ?  or  would  he  be  respectful  and 
kind  and  sympathetic  ?  I  knew  I  had  laid  myself  open 
to  familiarity.  I  had  confided  in  him,  I  had  bribed  him. 
Some  day  he  might  levy  blackmail  upon  me.  I  shuffled 

[176] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

uneasily  from  one  foot  to  the  other;  I  gave  Dibbs  an 
unexpected  caress;  I  readjusted  my  hatpins.  Then  I 
stole  a  glance  at  him  and  his  right  palm.  The  shilling 
had  disappeared,  and  he  was  staring  hard  at  the  sun- 
shine. His  face  was  expressionless,  his  attitude  was 
quite  respectful.  I  could  hardly  keep  myself  from  hug- 
ging him.  A  duke  could  not  have  displayed  greater 
tact  or  truer  refinement  of  feeling.  Bill  may  be  a 
common  village  plumber,  joiner,  carpenter,  painter  and 
decorator  rolled  in  one,  but  he  is  every  inch  a  gentleman. 

"You  understand,  Bill?" 

"  Quite,"  he  replied  gravely. 

"Good-day,  Bill." 

"  Good-day,  Miss  Hazelt,"  and  he  touched  his  cap. 

I  retraced  my  steps  through  the  village,  passed  our 
own  gate  at  a  run,  and  made  for  Oldfield  Common. 

I  tried  to  decide  which  I  loved  the  better  of  the  two — 
Elizabeth  or  Bill.  My  heart  was  full  to  overflowing 
with  the  milk  of  human  kindness.  I  almost  wished 
disaster  could  overtake  them,  so  that  I  might  be  their 
friend  and  do  kind  things  for  them.  I  called  Dibbs  and 
hugged  him  hard.  He  seemed  annoyed,  and  wriggled 
out  of  my  embrace.  He  does  not  like  to  be  kissed  when 
rabbits  are  knocking  about. 

What  an  absolutely  perfect,  heavenly  morning  it 
was.  There  had  been  a  ground  frost  the  previous 
night,  and  the  fields  and  heather  sparkled  in  the  sun- 
shine. Under  the  sheltering  hedges  the  banks  were  still 
frozen,  but  beneath  the  sun's  rays  the  little  sparklets  in 
12  [  177  ] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

the  middle  of  the  road  were  rapidly  disappearing.  The 
sky  was  of  a  brilliant  azure,  against  which  the  branches 
and  twigs  of  the  bare  oaks  stood  out  like  black  filigree 
work,  motionless  in  the  wonderful  stillness  of  the 
atmosphere.  The  Dee  lay  like  a  beautiful  sapphire  set 
about  with  hills  of  amethyst,  and  the  air  was  so  full  of 
champagne  and  other  fizzy  properties  that  my  feet 
fairly  danced  beneath  me,  and  at  last  I  was  obliged  to 
run — my  legs  simply  made  me — and  like  an  india-rubber 
ball  I  bounced  across  the  common  with  Dibbs  snapping 
wildly  at  my  heels. 

I  saw  some  one  coming  along  in  the  distance — a  man ! 
I  made  my  feet  stop,  and  my  heart  bounced  instead. 
Then  I  became  quite  unconcerned  and  indifferent  in 
my  manner.  I  allowed  my  gaze  to  rest  upon  the  beau- 
tiful view  to  my  left,  and  I  studied  it  carefully  till  I  was 
almost  up  to  the  person.  Then  I  raised  my  eyes  in 
well-feigned  surprise  and  saw — Frederick  Moss  in  a 
violent  art-green  Norfolk  suit,  and  a  soft,  felt,  wide- 
awake hat. 

I  have  never  loved  Frederick  Moss,  and  at  that  mo- 
ment I  disliked  him  excessively. 

Why  should  he  be  walking  across  Oldfield  Common 
when  it  might  have  been — somebody  else  ?  Somebody 
who  was  a  real  man  and  not  a  poet  with  weak  legs. 

"  Lady,  well  met ! "  he  said,  with  his  eyes  on  the  sky. 

"  Not  at  all,"  I  retorted  crossly. 

He  brought  his  gaze  to  earth  and  looked  at  me  re- 
proachfully. 

[178] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

"You  are  modest.  I  was  just  wishing  for  a  sympa- 
thetic companion.  I  will  turn  and  walk  with  you." 

"I  shan't  be  sympathetic." 

"  But  you  can  be." 

"  Couldn't  to-day.    Don't  feel  like  it." 

He  sighed. 

"  But  you  have  only  to — to " 

"Listen,"  I  interrupted,  "but  unfortunately  I  don't 
feel  like  listening." 

"  Well,  you — you  could  talk,"  he  spoke  in  an  unself- 
ish sort  of  way. 

I  laughed. 

"  No,  I  don't  want  to  talk,  Frederick,  thanks  all  the 
same.  I  want  to  think." 

"Ah!  I  know  that  feeling  well,"  he  said  eagerly. 
"Sometimes  I  feel  I  must  be  alone,  by  myself,  no  one 
near  me.  Alone  with  nature,  with  the  sun,  the  moon, 
the  stars,  the  wind  in  the  grass,  the  sea  lashing  the  rocks, 
the  birds  on  a  morning  in  June,  the 

"Slugs  on  a  night  of  July,"  I  completed.  "And,  as 
that  is  exactly  my  feeling  this  morning,  I  will  bid  you 
good-by.  /  want  to  be  alone." 

"Why  are  you  always  so  cruel?"  he  murmured 
plaintively,  placing  his  hat  at  a  more  fascinating  angle, 
"  Oh,  Hazel  of  the  deep  blue " 

"Frederick,"  I  said,  "if  you  repeat  those  lines  once 
again,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  cut  you  for  life." 

"  Most  girls  would  be  flattered  by — at  receiving  lines 
from  a  poet — even  though  a  minor  one,"  he  said  sulkily. 

[179] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

I  laughed  outright. 

"  Most  girls  would  be  nothing  of  the  kind,"  I  retorted. 
"  I  know  girls  better  than  you  know  them,  and  few  would 
have  been  as  patient  as  I.  My  home-training  has  schooled 
me  to  a  large  forbearance  toward  all  small  things." 

"You  will  tease  so,"  he  sighed.  "Now  if  I  were  to 
believe  that  you  regard  a  poem  as  a  small  thing  I — 

"  I  wasn't  referring  to  a  poem,"  I  broke  in,  "  but  a 
poet.  It  is  so  difficult  to  make  you  see  a  thing,  Fred- 
erick. And  now  I  really  must  leave  you." 

"  One  moment,"  he  cried,  hurrying  after  me.  "  You 
are  so  full  of  mischief,  raillery,  that  you  cause  a  fellow 
much — unhappiness.  Be  serious  for  a  moment,  Hazel. 
Beneath  your  light,  airy,  flippant  manner,  lies  a  deep 
undercurrent  of  strong  womanly  feeling  I  know.  A 
strong  womanly  heart  beats 

"Of  course  it  does,  or  I  shouldn't  be  here,"  I  ob- 
served. 

He  regarded  me  in  a  pained  way. 

"You  have  such  a  disconcerting  habit  of  interrupt- 
ing. I  was  saying " 

"You  were  talking  a  lot  of  rubbish,  and  to  put  it 
quite  plainly,  it  was  all  leading  up  to  the  recital  of  a 
new  poem  dedicated  to  the  moon  or  a  marigold  or  a 
mangel  worzel,  now,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

"No,"  he  replied  loftily,  "not  to  one  of  those  three 
things,  but  to  the  sun,  the  lord  of  day,  the  life-giving, 
life-heating  orb  which  swings  in  space." 

"Oh!  "I  said. 

[180] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"It  came  to  me  in  the  night,  suddenly;  flooded  my 
being  with  a  blinding  radiance." 

"But  surely  that  was  the  moon,"  I  ventured;  "the 
sun  doesn't  shine  at  night." 

He  looked  cross. 

"  I  speak  in  metaphor." 

"Oh,  do  you?" 

"  Will  you  lend  me  your  ear,  your  intelligence,  your 
critical  faculty  for  one  moment,  and  I  will  repeat  the 
lines,"  he  placed  his  hand  on  his  heart.  "  I  would  like 
your  opinion." 

"You  probably  won't  when  you  get  it,"  I  hastened 
to  say. 

"I  will  risk  that,  lady.  A  true  artist  is  never  dis- 
turbed by  the  opinion  of  the  world.  When  he  has 
created  a  thing  which  he  knows  to  be  good,  he  is 
satisfied." 

"  I  see,"  I  said. 

"Shall  we  walk  on?" 

"No,  I  prefer  to  hear  it  standing."  My  voice  was 
resigned. 

"Thanks;  the  opening  lines  are  strong,  I  think." 

"Stupendous  orb,  most  glorious  Sun, 
When  will  thy  sacred  course  be  run?" 

He  paused,  but  I  made  no  sign. 

"Shalt  thou  forever  shine  on  high 
And  reign  rejoicing  in  the  sky  ? 
Six  thousand  years  have  passed  away 
Since  dawned  creation's  awful  day." 
[181] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"  Stop,"  I  cried.  "  You've  got  wrong  in  your  dates. 
Billions,  you  mean." 

"Not  at  all.  Genesis  has  been  my  text-book;  be- 
sides, billions  is  an  inartistic  word." 

"  So  you  would  sacrifice  truth  to  art  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  when  necessary." 

"Goon." 

"  You  are  interested  ?  " 

"I  would  like  to  hear  if  there  are  any  further  rash 
statements." 

"Stupendous  orb,  most  glorious  Sun 
When—" 

"But  you've  said  all  that  before,"  I  cried  hastily. 

"  I  am  obliged  to  begin  all  over  again  when  I  am  in- 
terrupted. Surely  you  must  remember  ?  " 

"  I  had  forgotten,"  I  replied  sadly. 

This  time  I  took  care  not  to  interrupt  him  by  so  much 
as  a  groan,  not  even  over  the  most  excruciating  lines. 

"Thanks,"  I  said  when  he  had  finished. 

"No  comments?"  he  inquired  airily.  "Of  course, 
I  know  as  yet  I'm  only  a  minor  poet,  but  I  don't  think 
it's  a  bad  little  thing?" 

"  Not  so  very  bad,"  I  murmured.  "  Good-by,"  and 
picking  up  my  skirts,  I  took  to  my  heels  and  ran. 

This,  I  find,  is  the  best  way  of  getting  rid  of  minor 
poets.  Run  away  from  them. 

Soon  the  Oldfield  Farm  appeared  in  sight.  It  wore 
a  pleasant,  hospitable  air,  and  I  knew  its  milk  to  be  the 

[182] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

best  in  Heatherland.  I  persuaded  Miss  Swiftly  to  put 
me  some  in  a  pint  bottle,  and  lend  me  an  old  cup.  I 
wanted  to  lunch  out  of  doors.  In  addition,  she  gave  me 
a  lovely,  freshly-made  scone  covered  with  her  own 
fresh  butter. 

"You  are  a  dear,  Miss  Swiftly,  and  I  already  feel 
rampageously  hungry.  I  shall  go  straight  away  to 
Piper's  Well  and  picnic  there,  and  on  my  return  journey 
I  will  leave  you  the  bottle  and  cup." 

"Don't  you  trouble,  Miss  Hazel,"  she  said.  "You 
are  quite  welcome  to  them.  And  you  might  be  going 
back  another  way.  I  hear  there  is  a  shooting  party 
over  the  Durdans,  and  Mr.  Inderwick  is  there.  I'm 
told  that  you  and  he  are  great  friends,"  and  she  gave  a 
foolish  little  giggle. 

I  stared  at  her  for  a  moment.  So  village  gossip  about 
our  walk  was  evidently  in  full  swing,  and  had  reached 
as  far  as  Oldfield  Farm.  How  I  loathed  villagers. 
What  a  set  of  babbling,  chattering,  gossiping  poll- 
parrots  they  were.  Why  couldn't  they  attend  to  their 
own  business  ?  I  had  noticed  those  ten  heads  peeping 
round  muslin  blinds  that  day,  but  then  they  so  often 
peeped,  even  when  I  was  quite  alone.  It  was  really 
terribly  confining  and  cramping  living  in  such  an 
atmosphere.  I  felt  stifled  and  oppressed. 

I  met  Miss  Swiftly's  inquisitive,  amused,  quizzical 
look  with  a  bold  front. 

"  You  have  been  misinformed  if  you  have  been  told 
that  Mr.  Inderwick  and  I  are  great  friends.  I  have  met 

[183] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

him  about  three  times  since  he  came  to  Heatherland. 
At  present  he  is  an  acquaintance.  Some  day  I  hope  to 
reckon  him  as  my  friend.  The  village  is  simply  a  little 
premature." 

I  succeeded  in  keeping  my  voice  calm  and  even,  but 
as  I  walked  away  I  was  shaking  with  temper.  My  day 
was  spoiled.  I  walked  mechanically  to  Piper's  Well. 
I  sat  down  and  listened  to  the  little  babbling  noise  of 
the  water  as  it  sprang  from  a  grassy  bank  to  the  stones 
below. 

"  God,"  I  said,  "  I  wish  you  would  destroy  the  village 
of  Heatherland  as  you  did  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  of 
old  with  fire  and  brimstone,  and  I  would  fly  first  to 
Aunt  Menelophe  as  Lot  escaped  to  Zoar.  Of  course, 
too,  I  should  like  mother  and  Angela  to  be  saved. 
Probably  Angela  would  look  back  and  be  turned  into 
a  pillar  of  salt;  and,  on  the  whole,  it  would  not  be  a 
bad  end  for  her,  or  one  she  would  dislike,  as  it  would 
be  so  clean  and  healthy." 

Then  I  ate  my  meat  pasty,  and  Dibbs  prodded  me 
with  a  gentle  paw.  We  had  mouthfuls  alternately  and 
sips  of  the  milk.  Dibbs  enjoyed  his  lunch,  and  de- 
voured three-quarters  of  the  scone,  but  I  didn't  care 
for  such  a  gross  thing  as  food.  I  merely  ate  to  live. 
My  mind  was  engrossed  with  sombre  thoughts  on  vil- 
lage life.  I  think  people  who  write  exquisite  idylls 
about  simple,  primitive  country-folk  have  never  lived 
in  a  village,  or  they  couldn't  pen  such  drivel.  They 
probably  flop  down  into  one  for  a  week  or  two's  rest  to 

[184] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

recruit  their  forces  and  energy  to  grapple  with  the  stren- 
uousness  of  their  lives  in  town.  Then  they  tear  back  to 
their  big  cities  and  rave  about  everything :  cows  stand- 
ing knee-deep  in  lush  meadows;  quaint,  old-world, 
thatched  cottages;  ducks  waddling  on  village  greens; 
rustic  maidens  with  pink  cheeks,  shy  eyes,  and  shapes 
like  a  Venus  de  Milo ;  dear  old  simple  men  and  women 
— every  one  of  them  over  eighty — sitting  dozing  and 
babbling  and  crooning  in  the  sunshine  at  their  spotless 
cottage  doors;  fragrant,  old-fashioned  gardens  full  of 
sweet-scented  lavender  bushes,  columbines,  sweet- 
williams  and  cockle-shells;  the  whole  land  overflowing 
with  fresh  yellow  butter,  cream,  honey,  and  eggs;  no 
poverty,  no  sin,  no  crime;  every  inhabitant  as  guileless 
as  a  sleeping  kitten. 

It  is  a  pretty  fancy,  and  some  of  it  is  not  purely  the 
outcome  of  a  vivid  imagination.  We  have  thatched 
cottages  and  columbines  and  cockle-shells  by  the  gross. 
We  have  cows  and  lush  meadows  and  even  a  few  ducks. 
In  addition,  we  have  the  Dee  with  its  ceaseless  ebb  and 
flow,  and  the  Welsh  hills  enfolded  in  their  witchery  of 
blue  and  purple  and  shadowy  gray  mists.  We  have 
quiet  dawns,  with  the  sun  creeping  up  behind  the  hills, 
and  wondrous  golden  sunsets,  when  the  Dee  is  trans- 
formed into  a  river  of  molten  glory.  We  have  fresh 
butter — at  an  exorbitant  price — and  heather,  and 
honey,  and  eggs  at  certain  periods  of  the  year  when  the 
fowls  cease  moulting  and  sitting.  We  have  fragrant 
flowers  and  many  fruits  of  the  earth  and  beautiful  old 

[185] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

gardens.  We  have  maidens  with  pink  cheeks,  though 
their  eyes  are  anything  but  shy,  and  their  shapes  resem- 
ble oven-bottom  loaves.  We  have  old  men  and  women 
who  very  occasionally  sit  at  their  cottage  doors,  none  of 
them  caring  too  much  for  fresh  air;  but  where,  oh 
where,  are  the  dear,  simple-minded  guileless  ones  ? 
Do  innocent,  pure-hearted,  kindly,  selfless,  venerable 
men  and  women  of  villages  exist  only  in  the  pages  of  a 
novel,  or  is  my  sense  of  perception  void  ?  Fancy  calling 
Miss  Swiftly  simple-minded!  But  of  course  she  is  not 
old.  She  may  become  everything  that  is  desirable  by 
the  time  she  has  reached  eighty,  gossiping,  imaginative, 
old  scandal-monger!  A  village  would  be  the  most  de- 
lightful thing  in  the  world  if  there  were  no  people 
in  it. 

I  sat  and  mused  by  the  well  till  Dibbs  became  im- 
patient, and  a  little  shiver  ran  over  me.  After  all,  it 
was  December,  and  when  the  sun  began  to  make  its 
first  move  toward  the  west  the  air  at  once  became 
colder.  There  was  going  to  be  another  frost,  one 
could  feel  it  approaching,  and  the  branches  of  the 
trees  stood  motionless  as  though  gathering  together 
all  their  resources  to  withstand  the  enemy.  Not  a 
blade  of  grass  or  a  twig  moved;  everything  was  as 
still  as  death;  only  the  spring  sang  and  spirtled,  and 
gurgled  and  tumbled.  I  rinsed  the  bottle  and  cup 
in  the  falling  water,  and  bathed  my  face  and  hands  in 
its  iciness. 

"  I  will  go  home,"  I  said  out  loud. 
[186] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

My  desire  for  a  long  walk  had  gone.  The  glamour 
and  beauty  of  the  day  were  fading,  my  spirits  were 
down  to  zero.  I  felt  that  it  was  hard  that  the  world 
would  not  allow  me  to  contract  a  simple  friendship 
with  a  man  who  my  instinct  told  me  was  of  good, 
solid  gold  when  once  you  penetrated  his  rough  outer 
crust.  I  had  so  enjoyed  that  walk,  so  appreciated  his 
direct,  straight  mode  of  speech,  been  so  carried  away 
and  impressed  with  the  breadth  of  his  views  and 
simplicity  of  thought.  I  had  never  met  any  one  who 
appeared  so  utterly  indifferent  to  the  opinion  of  his 
fellow-creatures.  Not  because  he  was  hide-bound 
with  self-appreciation  and  egotism  or  conceit,  of  that 
I  was  sure,  for  he  seemed  quite  unself-conscious  and 
simple,  but  because  it  never  appeared  to  enter  his 
head  for  one  moment  that  people  might  be  interested 
in  his  movements,  sayings,  or  doings.  What  he  wanted 
to  do  he  went  straight  away  and  did. 

Oh,  how  I  wished  that  I  had  been  gifted  with  a 
like  strength  of  character.  Why  should  I  consider 
the  world's  opinion  of  me,  so  long  as  I  did  what  I 
knew  to  be  harmless  ?  The  world  did  nothing  for  me. 
Why  should  I  give  up  my  walks  with  Mr.  Inderwick 
to  please  it  ?  I  knew,  too,  that  I  should  really  please  it 
much  more  if  I  continued  them.  That  was  the  point. 
Heatherland  would  be  down  on  me  to  a  woman  if  I  were 
again  seen  with  him  alone ;  but  if  I  were  not  the  savor 
would  be  gone  out  of  their  lives.  I  realized  that  this 
savor  would  be  no  longer  provided  by  me.  I  don't 
[187] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

think  I  am  of  that  type  of  girl  who  is  never  so  happy 
as  when  she  is  causing  a  sensation.  In  theory  I  glory 
in  the  thought  of  defying  all  the  narrow  conventional- 
ities of  society.  I  bristle  with  bravery  in  the  privacy  of 
my  room.  Put  me  in  the  full  glare  of  public  opinion, 
and  under  the  pitiless  gaze  of  the  women  of  the  village, 
and  I  am  simply  abject. 

I  shook  out  my  skirts,  and  metaphorically  thrust 
Mr.  Inderwick  out  of  my  path.  He  must  go.  He 
had  said,  "We  will  have  many  walks  together."  He 
was  a  dense  man ;  he  didn't  understand  things.  "  Come 
along,  Dibbs,  my  friendship  with  Mr.  Inderwick  is  off," 
I  said,  and  we  started  down  the  field  for  the  shore,  as  I 
intended  returning  home  that  way,  and  would  give 
Miss  Swiftly  her  bottle  and  cup  some  other  day. 

We  had  gone  about  a  hundred  yards,  when  I  heard 
a  shout  behind.  Some  one  was  calling  my  name.  It 
was  Mr.  Inderwick's  voice,  but  I  wouldn't  hear.  I 
stumped  firmly  along,  for  had  I  not  just  decided  that 
our  friendship  must  cease?  We  must  in  future  only 
meet  as  ordinary  acquaintances  in  drawing-rooms. 

Again  he  called,  and  this  time  in  a  somewhat  per- 
emptory fashion,  "  Miss  Hazel,  wait  a  minute." 

But  still  I  would  not  hear.  Probably  Heatherland 
had  secured,  at  that  very  moment,  a  lighthouse  from 
somewhere,  and  was  sitting  up  in  it  with  telescopes 
and  field-glasses  surveying  the  landscape. 

"  Miss  Hazel,  are  you  stone-deaf  ?  " 

This  was  rude,  and  he  must  be  told  so.  I  turned 
[188] 


HAZEL   OF    HEATHERLAND 

round  slowly,  and  watched  his  approach.  As  he  came 
nearer  I  observed  he  was  limping,  and  that  his  mouth 
was  set  as  though  in  pain. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  I  asked  quickly. 

"  Oh,  I  have  hurt  my  ankle — given  it  a  bit  of  twist — 
and  racing  after  you  has  not  improved  it.  Were  you 
walking  for  a  wager  ?  " 

He  sounded  cross,  but  I  could  see  he  was  in  pain, 
so  I  answered  gently: 

"Sit  down  on  this  stile  for  a  minute  and  unlace 
your  boot.  How  did  it  happen  ?  And  why  have  you 
raced  after  me,  when  every  step  has  probably  injured 
you  seriously?  You  should  have  gone  to  Miss 
Swiftly's." 

"  I  did,  and  she  told  me  you  were  at  the  Well,  so  I 
came  after  you." 

"  But  that  was  very  unwise.  A  twisted  ankle  is  not 
a  thing  to  play  with." 

"Look  here,"  he  interrupted,  "don't  begin  to 
preach.  It's  not  hurt  badly — no  sprain  or  anything 
serious — and  I  thought  we  could  go  home  together. 
Miss  Swiftly  is  lending  me  her  trap,  and  perhaps  you 
would  like  a  lift." 

"No,  thanks,"  I  said  stiffly;  "I  am  returning  by 
the  shore." 

"  But  need  you  ?  Couldn't  you  just  as  well  come 
with  me,  and  I  would  take  you  a  bit  of  a  drive  first  ?  " 

His  tone  was  eager,  and  the  offer  was  tempting. 
Drives  didn't  often  come  my  way.  He  sat  down  and 

[189] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

began  to  unlace  his  boot,  and  his  mouth  screwed  up 
as  though  it  hurt  him. 

"  Will  you  ?  "  he  said  again. 

"No,  I  can't." 

"  Why  not  ?     Don't  you  like  driving  ?  " 

"Very  much." 

"Well,  then,  why  not  come?  You  will  be  quite 
safe  with  me.  I  am  accustomed  to  everything  in  the 
shape  of  horseflesh.  You  needn't  be  nervous." 

"I  am  not,"  I  replied  sharply.  "I  am  not  nervous 
of  anything." 

"Oh,  well,  then,  that's  settled,"  he  said  calmly. 
"Deuce,  how  my  ankle's  swollen!  Just  look." 

I  looked,  and  it  was  certainly  very  puffy  and  fat. 
He  regarded  it  ruefully. 

"That's  through  not  looking  before  you  leap.  I 
jumped  over  a  pretty  stiff  fence  and  landed  in  a  rabbit 
hole.  I  was  shooting  with  some  men  over  the  Durdans, 
and  pretty  nearly  shot  myself." 

"You  are  too  big  and  heavy  to  go  vaulting  fences 
like  a  schoolboy,"  I  commented  severely.  "I  don't 
know  how  you  are  going  to  get  home." 

"  I  do,"  he  answered  composedly.  "  It  is  not  so  bad 
as  all  that.  It  looks  worse  than  it  is.  I  shall  just  ask 
you  to  be  so  good  as  to  give  me  a  bit  of  help  across  this 
field  to  the  farm,  and  the  rest  will  be  easy." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  shan't  be  much  use.  I  am  not  very 
strong." 

"Yes,  excuse  me,  you  are.  You  are  the  strongest 
[190] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

young  lady  I  have  met.  And  now  may  I  lean  on  your 
shoulder  ?  I  am  sorry  to  trouble  you,  but  I  won't  bear 
more  heavily  than  I  can  help." 

He  did  so  without  further  formality.  He  was  still 
without  his  boot,  and  limped  along  in  his  stocking  foot. 

"We  might  be  Jane  Eyre  and  Mr.  Rochester,"  I 
began,  then  I  could  have  bitten  out  my  tongue. 

"Yes,  only  you  will  perhaps  remember  Jane  was 
kind  and  sympathetic,"  he  said,  turning  and  looking 
into  my  face  with  a  smile. 

"I  think  I  have  been  extremely  sympathetic,"  I 
retorted. 

"Indeed!  I  was  just  at  the  moment  reflecting  I  had 
rarely  met  with  any  one  who  seemed  more  bored  at 
doing  a  little  kindness." 

"I  am  not  bored,"  I  flashed  out,  "only— 

"Only  what?" 

I  was  mute.  I  could  not  tell  him  that  though  greatly 
enjoying  the  situation,  I  was  convinced  that  telescopes 
were  being  turned  on  to  us  from  various  points  of 
Heatherland,  and  that  behind  each  sat  a  woman,  a 
woman  with  an  inordinate  love  of  gossip  and  an  imag- 
ination as  vivid  as  the  noonday  sun. 

"  Only  what  ?  "  he  repeated. 

I  wriggled  in  spirit.  What  a  persistent  man  he  was ! 
And  it  was  so  difficult  to  tell  lies  beneath  that  steady 
gaze. 

"  I  have  my  reasons,"  I  said  at  length  doggedly. 

"Yes,  so  I  suppose,  and  I  am  trying  to  get  at  them. 
[191] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

You  were  so  nice  and  friendly  the  other  day,  and  we 
had  such  a  jolly  walk,  and  now — well,  now  you  treat 
me  as  though  I  were  a  stranger,  and  instead  of  offering 
the  cup  of  cold  water  you  pass  over  to  the  other  side. 
And  it  is  not  very  nice  of  you,  considering  you  are 
religious." 

I  could  not  help  laughing  at  his  tone. 

"But  I  am  not  religious.  I  am  dreadfully  wicked. 
If  you  only  knew  what  I  had  done  to-day,"  and  I  told 
him  about  the  keyhole. 

He  chuckled  for  a  few  minutes. 

"Yes,  I  think  you  are  pretty  wicked,"  he  said,  "but 
at  the  same  time  I  fancy  you  are  religious.  You  never 
miss  saying  your  prayers  or  reading  your  Bible  morn- 
ing and  night,  or  going  to  church;  and  you  give  to  the 
poor,  and  to  missionaries,  and  waifs  and  strays;  and 
you  go  to  sewing  meetings,  and  visit  your  district,  and 
read  to  blind  women.  Don't  you  ?  " 

"  But  that  is  not  being  religious.  Surely  you  must 
know  that?  Those  are  all  mere  empty  works  which 
are  void  without  faith  and  love.  And  I  have  no  love 
for  any  of  them.  I  hate  the  lot.  I  do  these  things  only 
from  a  sense  of  duty,  and  to  please  mother  and  Angela." 

"Then  all  the  more  credit  due  to  you,"  he  said 
gravely.  "When  people  take  up  work  which  is  thor- 
oughly distasteful  to  them,  and  go  through  with  it 
bravely  and  honestly,  they  are  on  the  right  track  for 
heaven,  to  my  thinking." 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  said,  sighing.  "  I  believe  I  do  it  in 
[192] 


H;AZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

the  hope  of  securing  a  tiny  corner  for  myself  in  the 
next  world,  and  because  I  am  really  sorry  for  poor 
people." 

"  And  they  adore  you." 

How  comforting  he  was.  I  did  not  stop  to  inquire 
how  he  had  discovered  such  a  startling  and  comfortable 
fact — if  it  were  a  fact.  I  just  stroked  myself  down 
gently.  How  lovely  it  was  to  know  that  somebody 
adored  me.  I  always  feel  at  my  best  with  Mr.  Inder- 
wick. 

We  had  reached  the  farmyard.  The  horse  and  trap 
stood  waiting,  and  Miss  Swiftly  ogled  at  us  from  the 
doorway.  I  gave  her  the  cup  and  bottle,  and,  turning 
to  Mr.  Inderwick,  held  out  my  hand. 

"Good-by,"  I  said  a  little  stiffly.  I  fancied  I  saw 
four  ears  on  Miss  Swiftly's  head  instead  of  two,  and 
they  all  pointed  ourway  as  a  setter  points  at  his  quarry. 

But  he  took  no  notice  of  it.  My  palm  embraced  the 
air  while  he  busied  himself  with  the  rug. 

"  Now  will  you  get  in,  Miss  Hazel  ?  "  he  said,  offering 
me  his  hand  as  cool  as  a  cucumber.  "Just  stand  up  a 
moment  while  I  tuck  the  rug  round  you;  that's  it. 
Good-day,  Miss  Swiftly.  Many  thanks.  My  man  shall 
bring  back  the  trap  this  evening.  You  say  you  won't 
be  wanting  it.  Hope  I  shall  be  able  to  do  you  a  similar 
kindness  some  day  without  the  strained  ankle  thrown 
in.  Good-day."  And  we  rattled  across  the  cobbles  of 
the  yard  and  down  the  narrow  lane,  with  its  hedge  of 
furze  bushes,  followed  by  Miss  Swiftly's  starting  eyes 
13  [193] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

and  extended  ears,  and  the  wide  grin  of  a  hulking 
stable-boy. 

What  we  said,  and  how  we  disagreed,  and  where  we 
drove  to  must  be  reserved  for  another  day,  for  I  must 
go  down  to  supper.  The  gong  has  gone  twice,  and  I 
must  meet  mother  and  Angela  sooner  or  later.  I  wish 
it  could  be  later.  There  is  bound  to  be  a  lecture.  I 
slipped  in  and  up  the  stairs  without  making  a  sound. 
Yet  I  know  they  are  aware  of  my  presence  in  the  house, 
or  why  sound  the  gong  twice  ?  Angela  has  never  been 
late  for  a  meal  in  her  life.  So  I  must  take  my  courage 
in  my  hands  and  gird  up  my  loins  to  withstand  the  on- 
slaught of  the  enemy. 

The  drive  was  worth  it  all. 


[194] 


CHAPTER  XV 

On  the  Repairing  of  a  Lock  and  my  Drive  with  Mr. 
Inderwick 

BILL  BONNYMAN  has  just  finished  repairing 
the  lock  of  the  store-cupboard  door.     When 
the  last  screw  was  removed,  and  the  lock  was 
being  gently  shaken  about  in  Bill's  large  hand,  I  deftly 
slipped  in  between  it  and  Angela.     She  did  not  hear 
the  rattle  of  a  tiny  pebble  on  the  floor,  and  if  she  did, 
it  would  be  from  Bill's  boot. 

"  What  was  it,  Bill  ?  Why  wouldn't  the  key  turn  ?  " 
she  asked  with  interest. 

"A  bit  of  dirt,  miss.  P'r'aps  something  out  of  your 
pocket  which  stuck  in  the  little  hole  at  the  top  end  of 
the  key." 

"I  don't  have  dirty  pockets,  Bill,"  she  said  with  dig- 
nity. "Besides,  I  don't  carry  the  key  there.  It  is 
attached  to  the  chatelaine  at  my  waist." 

"  Ah  well,  miss !  Keyholes  often  pick  up  a  bit  of  dirt. 
It's  a  habit  they  have,"  and  Bill  prepared  to  go. 

"Couldn't  Bill  have  a  glass  of  beer,  Angela?"  I 
whispered. 

[195] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

She  looked  at  me  in  surprise. 

"  Mother  never  gives  beer  to  any  one." 

"She  does  to  the  carpet-shakers  in  the  spring  and 
autumn  cleanings." 

"That  is  different.  She  is  obliged  to.  It  is  the 
custom  in  Heatherland — sixpence  a  corner  and  a  glass 
of  beer  each.  But  there  is  no  occasion  for  Bill  to  have 
it;  he  is  paid  for  his  work." 

"  But  he  is  so  kind  and  nice,"  I  persisted. 

"  That  is  not  sufficient  reason  for  giving  a  man  beer," 
she  said  in  her  most  final  tones. 

I  followed  Bill  to  the  back  door  and  slipped  two- 
pence into  his  hand. 

"That  is  for  beer,  Bill." 

"Thank  you  kindly,  miss,  but  I'm  teetotal." 

Once  again  Bill  caused  me  to  gasp.  First  he  was  in 
when  as  a  plumber  he  should  have  been  out,  and  now 
he  was  teetotal.  I  did  not  know  there  was  a  teetotal 
man  in  Heatherland.  I  watched  him  down  the  walk 
and  into  Sandy  Lane.  I  felt  fond  of  Bill.  I  owed  my 
lovely  drive  to  him.  But  for  his  sympathy  yesterday  I 
should  have  been  miserable  and  felt  bound  to  return  to 
Angela  and  confess  my  crime;  his  tacit  acquiescence  to 
keep  quiet  and  say  nothing  encouraged  me  to  brazen 
the  whole  thing  out,  and  I  was  rewarded  for  my  temer- 
ity. My  day  more  than  equalled  expectations,  espe- 
cially the  evening  part  of  it,  and  the  drive  with  Mr. 
Inderwick. 

Of  course  the  weather  was  exceptionally  fine,  and  I 
[196] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

am  sure  there  were  more  stars  than  usual  in  the  sky. 
One  great  big  one  shot  into  the  blue  almost  before  the 
red  and  gold  in  the  west  had  faded  and  died.  Then 
another  appeared.  And  then,  as  if  by  magic,  the  whole 
lot  of  them  came  upon  the  scene — big  and  little,  fixed 
stars  and  planets — and  they  twinkled  and  winkled,  and 
sparkled  and  glittered  till  the  heavens  seemed  fairly 
alive  with  their  glimmering  eyes.  They  appeared,  I 
thought,  to  be  winking  at  us.  Supposing  Mrs.  Gates 
were  seated  in  one  of  them  and  Angela  in  another.  I 
shuffled  uneasily.  There  was  still  time  to  get  down 
and  go  home  alone.  We  had  not  got  very  far  from 
Heatherland,  though  it  was  rapidly  retreating  behind 
us.  This  was  what  Mr.  Inderwick  called  making  a 
little  detour, 

I  summoned  all  my  courage  and  duty  and  well- 
brought-upness  and  good  moral  training  to  my  aid, 
and  demanded  to  be  set  down  immediately. 

Mr.  Inderwick  instantly  became  deeply  interested 
in  Dibbs's  movements  behind  us,  and  whistled  to  him 
loudly. 

"He  is  all  right,"  I  said.  "Will  you  put  me  down 
at  once?  I  did  not  argue  before  Miss  Swiftly,  but  I 
have  no  intention  of  going  a  drive  with  you." 

We  covered  quite  another  quarter  of  a  mile  before 
he  replied — 

"  I  am  sorry  you  have  changed  your  mind.  You  are 
a  little  wobbly.  I  thought  in  the  fields  you  decided 
you  would  go." 

[197] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

"  I  never  did,"  I  cried  hotly.  "  I  had  not  the  slightest 
intention  of  driving  one  yard  with  you." 

"  Why  are  you  here,  then  ?  " 

I  could  have  shaken  him.  Of  all  the  exasperating 
men  in  the  world !  First  he  mastered  me,  then  he  called 
me  wobbly.  Such  impertinence !  It  was  gross. 

"Mr.  Inderwick,"  I  said,  "you  may  think  you  are 
being  funny.  It  does  not  strike  me  that  way.  I  call 
your  behavior  ungentlemanly,  ill-bred,  and  cruel.  To 
kidnap  a  defenceless  girl  on  the  public  highway  is  not 
a  very  creditable  piece  of  work." 

I  glowered  at  him  as  I  spoke,  expecting  him  to  pull 
the  horse  on  to  its  haunches  in  his  shame  and  sorrow, 
and  I  could  hardly  believe  my  own  senses — either  sight 
or  hearing — when  his  lips  twitched  and  he  finally  broke 
into  such  chuckling  that  his  great  shoulders  heaved  up 
and  down  like  young  earthquakes. 

That  settled  it.    I  was  really  angry. 

"Mr.  Inderwick,  if  you  have  one  particle  of  manly 
or  gentlemanly  feeling  in  you — and  I  am  beginning 
to  doubt  if  you  have — may  I  appeal  to  it,  once  again, 
and  request  you  to  stop  the  horse  and  allow  me  to 
get  down." 

I  hardly  realized  that  we  had  passed  West  Kirby 
and  were  a  good  four  miles  from  home,  and  that  it 
nad  was  now  quite  dark  but  for  the  glimmering  light  of 
the  stars. 

He  pulled  up  the  horse,  and  handed  me  down  with- 
out speaking. 

[198] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

"Good-night,"  I  said  freezingly  as  I  turned  on  my 
heel  and  set  off  down  the  hard  road  at  a  good  speed. 

"  Wait  a  bit,"  he  called  after  me.  "  If  you  will  allow 
me,  I  will  keep  just  behind  you  in  the  trap.  It  is  not 
safe  for  you  to  be  on  these  lonely  roads  at  this  time 
of  night." 

I  vouchsafed  no  answer.  The  thing  was  becoming 
farcical.  The  horse's  hoofs  clinked,  and  the  wheels 
rumbled  slowly  immediately  in  my  rear.  When  I  hur- 
ried, they  hurried;  when  I  slowed  down,  they  slowed 
down.  A  match  struck  and  a  fragrant  whiff  of  tobacco 
curled  along  the  sharp  air.  A  man  could  always  find 
comfort  in  his  pipe ;  and  there  he  was  seated  cosily  and 
comfortably  under  the  warm  rug,  while  I  was  out  in  the 
cold,  chill  air.  I  felt  exceedingly  sorry  for  myself.  Men 
were  so  selfish.  And  I  had  had  no  tea,  and  was  dread- 
fully hungry  and  very  tired,  and  I  had  still  two  more 
miles  to  walk. 

"  Have  you  nearly  had  enough,  Miss  Hazel  ?  " 

The  voice  was  quite  gentle,  though  I  fancied  I  could 
still  detect  a  trace  of  amusement  in  it,  and  my  back 
stiffened. 

"  Miss  Hazel,  I  want  to  say  something  to  you,  and  I 
can't  if  you  tear  on  like  that.  Won't  you  stop  a  min- 
ute?" 

The  voice  was  almost  supplicating  this  time,  and  a 
stone  in  my  boot  was  hurting  me. 

"Well?" 

"  Oh,  don't  say  '  well ! '  like  that.  You  quite  frighten 
[199] 


HAZEL  OP  HEATHERLAND 

me.  You  sound  like  an  iceberg,  and  I  am  so  helpless 
with  my  lame  foot.  Just  stop  one  minute.  The  horse 
is  getting  quite  out  of  breath." 

I  was  glad  that  the  darkness  covered  up  my  smile. 
I  stopped  quite  suddenly,  and  the  horse  almost  walked 
over  me. 

"  And  now  you  are  trying  to  commit  suicide,"  he  re- 
marked plaintively.  "  I  think  women  are  a  little  un- 
reasonable, don't  you  ?  " 

"  Unreasonable ! "  I  flashed. 

"Yes.  But  I  don't  say  you  are.  I  was  only  gener- 
alizing. This  keen  air  is  conducive  to  thought  and 
philosophy." 

"  May  I  ask  if  you  called  me  back  to  listen  to  your 
prosings  on  women  ?  " 

"That  sounds  a  little  unkind,"  he  said.  "No,  I 
wanted  to  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am  for  being  so  ungen- 
tlemanly  and  ill-bred  and — what  was  the  other  thing  ? 
cruel,  wasn't  it? — and  for  kidnapping  you.  I  never 
meant  to  kidnap  you,  I  assure  you.  And  I  am  really 
sorry  that  my  manner  led  you  to  think  I  had  such  an 
object  in  view.  The  fact  is,  I  was  so  keen  on  taking 
you  for  a  drive — you  seem  so  fond  of  the  fresh  air  and 
country  and  such  things — that  I  forgot  your  feelings  in 
the  matter.  And  there  is  a  jolly  little  place  in  West 
Kirby  where  you  can  get  tea  and  hot  muffins,  and — 
well,  I  thought  what  a  nice  time  we  would  have,  the 
same  as  the  other  afternoon;  and  there  are  such  a  lot 
of  stars,  and  the  roads  are  so  good,  and — it's  quite 

[200] 


HAZEL    OF    HEATHERLAND 

early.  And  this  place  is  sort  of  Japanesy — all  odd  and 
pretty." 

"And  what  about  your  ankle?  I  thought  it  hurt 
you,  and  you  have  no  boot  on." 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  that.  But  it  doesn't  hurt  much  now, 
and  I  could  easily  have  hobbled  into  the  tea-room,  and 
the  muffins  are  so  hot  and  buttery,  and " 

"  Don't ! "  I  groaned.    "  I  am  absolutely  ravenous." 

"  Are  you  ?  Poor  child ! "  he  said  in  the  most  beauti- 
fully sympathetic  voice  I  ever  heard.  "I  am  sorry. 
But  we  should  be  back  there  in  ten  minutes  if  you  got 
in  the  trap  at  once.  It  is  quite  early,  and  I  promise  to 
take  you  in  by  6:30.  I  know  Mrs.  Wycherley  is  par- 
ticular, but  she  won't  mind  your  being  with  me,  of 
course,  when  I  have  known  you  for  fourteen  years.  I 
will  take  good  care  of  you." 

He  was  helping  me  in  as  he  spoke,  and  my  last  frag- 
ment of  indecision  oozed  out  of  my  heels.  He  was  so 
sensible  and  matter-of-fact  and  practical,  that  I  won- 
dered how  I  could  have  been  so  fussy  about  such  a 
trifle.  I  was  tired,  too,  and  very  hungry.  I  did  not  like 
the  sensation,  I  must  admit,  of  having  been  conquered 
by  this  determined  man.  But  there  are  moments  in 
one's  life  when  one  must  show  a  fine  spirit  and  give  in. 
Only  really  broad-minded  people  give  in;  narrow, 
petty  souls  always  remain  obstinate,  but  they  call  it  by 
another  name — firmness. 

And  Mr.  Inderwick  was  not  blatantly  triumphant 
over  his  victory.  I  will  give  him  credit  for  showing  a 

[201] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

nice,  humble  feeling.  He  talked  of  every-day  events  in 
an  every-day  voice  as  we  drove  back  to  West  Kirby, 
and  he  helped  me  to  get  down  as  respectfully  as  if  I 
had  been  the  Empress  of  all  the  Russias. 

The  tea-room  was  all  he  had  promised — odd  and 
pretty  and  Japanesy.  Quaint  Oriental  curtains  were 
drawn  across  the  windows,  so  Mrs.  Gates  and  Angela 
could  not  peep  in  upon  us  from  their  respective  stars. 

Stimulated  by  the  tea,  I  soon  forgot  my  qualms  and 
became  cheerful  and  talkative,  while  he  relapsed  into 
his  customary  attentive  silence  and  prolonged,  fixed 
staring.  I  don't  think  he  is  aware  of  this  bad,  dis- 
quieting habit.  Some  day  when  I  know  him  better  I 
must  tell  him  of  it.  It  is  not  good  manners. 

I  felt  it  was  my  duty,  too,  to  point  out  to  him  that  it 
had  been  rude  and  untrue  to  call  me  "  wobbly." 

"Well,  aren't  you?"  he  said,  smiling.  "I  thought 
all  girls  were." 

"Your  knowledge  of  girls  has  apparently  been 
small,"  I  replied.  "Girls  have  plenty  of — of  char- 
acter." 

"  Oh,  have  they  ?  "  he  said,  looking  surprised. 

"  You  do  not  amuse  me,"  I  observed,  glancing  at  the 
clock  and  springing  to  my  feet  at  the  same  instant. 

"Now  don't  get  fussy,"  he  said  quietly.  "I  prom- 
ised you  should  be  in  by  half -past  six,  and  you  shall. 
You  seem  to  be  under  the  impression  that  not  a 
single  affair  of  the  nation,  either  public  or  private, 
can  be  managed  without  your  assistance,  and  it  is 

[  202  ] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

such  a  mistake  on  your  part.  You  must  have  faith  in 
people." 

Then  he  called  for  the  bill  and  limped  slowly  after 
me  to  the  door,  followed  by  the  astonished  eyes  of  the 
girl,  who  evidently  thought  the  sight  of  a  brown  stock- 
inged foot  at  the  end  of  a  leather  legging  rather  unusual. 

"  How  is  your  ankle  ?  "  I  inquired,  as  he  stood  on  the 
cold  pavement  on  one  leg. 

"  Nicely,  thank  you.  It  doesn't  hurt  much,  but  it  is 
pretty  swollen  and  very  cold." 

"  You  should  have  gone  straight  home.  I  expect  you 
will  be  laid  up  for  weeks." 

"  Probably,  but  I've  risked  it.  I  like  being  with  you 
— somehow." 

"Thanks.  But  I  think  the  'somehow'  was  a  little 
unnecessary." 

I  could  feel  him  smiling  as  he  touched  up  the  horse. 

"Tell  me  why  you  like  being  with  me?"  I  asked, 
with  that  interest  which  a  woman  invariably  displays 
in  her  own  personality.  I  can  only  get  mother  and 
Angela  to  discuss  me  on  rare  occasions,  and  then  in  a 
way  I  do  not  always  care  about. 

"You  are  so  vivid,  so  terrifically  in  earnest  about 
everything;  you  take  yourself  so  seriously." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Well,   for  instance,   you   are   so   affected   by  the 

Parian  jugs,  and  the  little  monotonous  details  which 

are  bound  to  enter  into  most  people's  lives.     They 

chafe  and  fret  you  so.     Don't  think  I  am  not  sympa- 

[203  ] 


HAZEL   OF  HEATHERLAND 

thetic  about  them,  I  think  the  small  worries  of  life  are 
the  hardest  to  bear,  for  there  are  so  many  of  them. 
But  I  think  you  feel  them  more  than  you  should.  You 
are  nervous  and  highly  strung.  And  then  haven't  you 
rather  exaggerated  to  yourself  the  friendly  interest 
which  Miss  Swiftly  and  possibly  a  few  other  villagers 
are  evidently  taking  at  the  moment  in  us  ?  It  pleases 
them — their  lives  are  dull — and  won't  harm  you  and 
me." 

I  sat  dumfounded.  My  tongue  clicked  in  my  dry 
mouth,  but  no  sound  came.  So  he  was  not  blind  or 
dense  as  I  had  imagined.  He  had  known  all  the  time 
my  reason  for  not  wishing  to  drive  with  him.  He  was 
aware  that  our  names,  his  and  mine,  were  being  bandied 
together  about  the  village,  and  he  spoke  as  calmly  of  it 
as  he  would  speak  of  the  weather. 

"  How  did  you  know  ?  "  I  inquired  at  length,  faintly. 
"  Did — did  Miss  Swiftly  say  anything  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "  But  I  had  not  been 
in  her  kitchen  two  minutes  before  she  told  me  you  were 
down  the  farm  fields  at  Piper's  Well.  Within  two  more 
minutes  she  again  gave  me  the  same  pleasing  informa- 
tion. This  was  followed  by  your  refusing  to  hear  me, 
then  to  drive  with  me,  and  your  general  unsympa- 
thetic aggressiveness.  Miss  Swiftly's  vacuous  smile  as 
we  drove  away  caused  me  to  see  daylight,  and  I  soon 
found  that  two  and  two  made  four." 

He  allowed  the  horse  to  fall  into  a  walk,  and  turned 
and  looked  at  me  searchingly. 

[204] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

My  cheeks  burned,  and  I  blessed  the  night  for 
having  fallen  and  the  moon  for  staying  in  another 
part  of  the  world. 

"  I  thought  you  were  blind  and  absent-minded,  and 
did  not  see  things,"  I  presently  murmured  nervously. 

"I  am  not  blind  or  absent-minded  where  you  are 
concerned,"  he  said  with  great  decision.  "You  have 
shaken  me  up  and  sharpened  my  faculties  in  an  aston- 
ishing way." 

"And  you  are  pretty  heavy  and  solid  and  old  to 
shake  up,"  I  said  flippantly  and  still  more  nervously. 
"You  remind  me  of  an  Early  Victorian  feather-bed 
which  has  become  lumpy." 

"  I  am  not  old,"  he  replied,  a  little  irritably.  "  How 
you  carp  on  one's  age!"  and  he  flicked  at  the  horse 
with  his  whip,  causing  it  to  break  into  a  gallop. 

"Do  I?"  I  said  in  surprise,  becoming  calmer.  "I 
am  sorry.  Have  I  ever  mentioned  it  before  ?  " 

"  Frequently,"  he  answered. 

"That  is  not  true.  But,  you  see,  you  seemed  quite 
old  to  me  when  I  was  a  little  girl,  and  naturally  it  strikes 
me  you  are  still  older  now." 

"  All  people  who  are  grown  up  appear  old  to  children. 
They  rarely  distinguish  between  twenty-five  and  fifty- 
five.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  when  you  were  seven  I  was 
twenty-one — a  mere  slip  of  a  youth  in  my  second  year 
at  the 'Varsity." 

"You  were  never  a  slip,"  I  replied  firmly.  "You 
were  big  and  grave  and  slow,  and  you  seemed  like 
forty  at  the  very  least,  even  in  those  days." 

[205] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Well,  I  wasn't,"  he  snapped  still  more  irritably. 
"Try  and  disabuse  your  mind  of  that  misconception. 
I  am  still  five  years  short  of  forty.  Perhaps  I  appear 
seventy  to  you  to-night  ?  " 

"  No,  I  should  say  not  more  than  seven — if  that." 

He  gave  a  grunt,  and  then  we  both  laughed. 

"If  you  knew  my  reason  for  not  caring  to  drive 
with  you,"  I  said  bravely,  "don't  you  think  you  were  a 
bit  of  a  bully?" 

"No,"  he  replied.  "To  consider  such  infernal  rot 
betokens  a  weakness  of  character." 

"Your  language  is  anything  but  weak,"  I  com- 
mented severely. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  feel  strongly  about  it.  If 
one  is  always  pandering  to  the  world's  opinion  you  may 
as  well  shut  up  shop,  or  become  a  drivelling  nincom- 
poop. I  don't  mean  to  grovel  at  its  feet.  I  intend  to 
enjoy  life." 

"I  see.  And  does  enjoying  life  mean  compelling 
people  to  go  drives  with  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

I  had  nothing  to  say  to  that,  and  a  silence  fell  upon  us. 

As  we  swung  down  the  lane  to  our  gate  he  said — 

"Is  your  man  anywhere  about,  I  wonder,  to  hold 
the  horse  ?  " 

"Why?"  I  asked. 

"  I  want  to  go  in  with  you  for  a  minute  to  explain  to 
Mrs.  Wycherley  that  you  have  been  good  enough  to 
go  for  a  drive  with  me." 

[206] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Go  in?" 

"Yes.  Why  not?  It  seems  only  fair  to  you  and 
Mrs.  Wycherley." 

"  But  you  can't.    You  mustn't  on  any  account." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  asked  wonderingly. 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't  think  of  it.  It's  impossible.  They 
would  be  flabbergasted.  And  Angela  may  have  been 
washing  her  head  and  be  drying  it  in  the  dining-room. 
She  often  does  in  winter  to  save  a  fire  in  her  bedroom." 

"  And  do  you  do  the  same  ?  " 

"Yes.    Why?" 

"Well,  I  would  call  if  I  could  just  fix  on  the  night. 
I  would  like  to  see  your  hair  down,  it  is  so  dark  and 
fluffy." 

"  Mr.  Inderwick,  I  must  say  '  Good-night.' " 

"Wait  a  minute.  I  don't  know  how  I  am  to  fix  it 
up." 

"Fix  what  up?" 

"  Why,  I  wanted  to  ask  Mrs.  Wycherley  if  you  might 
drive  with  me  to  the  meet  next  week,  and  perhaps  Miss 
Angela  could  come  too." 

I  sat  down  down  on  the  step  and  fairly  heaved  with 
surprise. 

"You  are  an  astonishing  person,  Mr.  Inderwick. 
Mother  would  no  more  dream  of  allowing  it  than  she 
would  permit  us  to  dress  up  in  men's  clothes  and  go 
round  Heatherland  with  a  barrel-organ." 

"Wouldn't  she — not  if  I  came  in  with  you  and 
asked  her  ?  " 

[207] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"  Certainly  not.    She  would  think  you  raving  mad." 

He  whistled  for  a  moment  reflectively. 

"  Well,  would  she  if  I  asked  her  to  come  too  ?  You 
and  Miss  Angela  perhaps  wouldn't  mind  sitting  at  the 
back  one  way,  and " 

"And  the  other?" 

"Oh,  the  other!  Well,  it  would  be  a  little  difficult 
to  arrange.  Can  Miss  Angela  drive  ?  " 

"No,  she  can't;  and  in  my  wildest  moment  of  de- 
rangement I  cannot  fancy  mother  at  a  meet." 

"  I'm  sorry.    When  can  you  come  to  tea  again  ?  " 

"Never." 

"  Haven't  they  forgiven  you  about  the  Parian  jugs  ?  " 

"No." 

"That's  a  nuisance.  It  looks  as  though  I  can't  fix 
it  up  any  way,  and  I  should  like  to  see  you  again  before 
I  go  away." 

"  Are  you  going  away  ?  " 

I  tried  and  believe  I  kept  the  consternation  out  of 
my  voice,  but  I  went  all  sort  of  blank  inside. 

"Yes,  I'm  going  for  a  fortnight  at  Christmas." 

"How  jolly!"  I  ejaculated. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  I  would  much  prefer  staying  at 
Heatherland.  I  regard  it  as  an  unmitigated  nuisance. 
Seven  children  in  the  house — my  brother's — and  the 
entire  place  packed  with  Christmas-trees,  dolls,  wooden 
horses,  trains,  soldiers,  ducks,  and  sticky  fingers.  The 
children  themselves  horribly  over-fed  and  with  a  rapa- 
cious desire  and  hankering  after  '  presents  from  uncle,' 
and  the  parents  apologetic  and  pulpy." 

[208] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

I  laughed. 

"  Well,  good-night,  you  have  my  sympathy." 

"  Good-night;  I'm  sorry  you  won't  let  me  come  in." 

He  picked  up  the  reins  and  watched  me  as  I  ran  up 
the  steps  to  the  gate.  After  I  had  closed  it,  I  popped 
my  head  over  and  whispered  in  a  low  voice — 

"You  have  never  returned  mother's  and  Angela's 
call,  and  they  think  it  frightfully  ill-mannered  of 
you." 

Then  I  slipped  noiselessly  across  the  lawn,  into  the 
house,  and  up  to  my  room. 

What  a  nice  man  he  was,  I  reflected,  as  I  brushed 
my  hair.  So  jolly  and  friendly  and  brotherly,  and  not 
a  scrap  of  nonsense  about  him.  And  showed  such 
thoroughly  nice  feeling  to  want  to  come  in  and  explain 
matters  to  mother.  Very  few  men  would  have  sug- 
gested such  a  step.  I  felt  I  had  found  a  real  friend  at 
last.  What  a  pity  it  was  because  a  silly  world  talked 
that  we  could  have  no  more  good  times  together.  And 
he  was  going  away,  too,  and  Heatherland  would  be 
again  flat  and  dull.  I  wished  Aunt  Menelophe  would 
invite  me  to  spend  Christmas  with  her.  But  mother 
wouldn't  permit  it  even  if  such  an  invitation  came.  We 
must  always  spend  Christmas  together.  It  is  the  season 
of  the  year  when  I  feel  more  than  usually  fond  of 
Angela. 

I  went  down  to  supper,  and  mother  shook  her  head 
at  me  very  gravely  as  I  took  my  place  at  the  table. 
Angela  cast  a  pale-blue  eye  on  me,  and  then  ignored 
me  as  completely  as  she  does  beggar-women.  She  does 

14  [209] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

not  approve  of  beggar-women ;  she  says  they  could  all 
get  charing  if  they  tried. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  meal  she  addressed  me  at 
some  length.  The  Welsh-rabbit  may  have  lubricated 
her  throat.  She  spoke  of  selfishness  and  callousness, 
and  disobedience  and  shirking  my  duty,  and  all  sorts 
of  sins  mentioned  in  Jeremy  Taylor.  I  listened  to  her 
without  replying.  Her  conversation  always  maintains 
the  same  high  level  of  elocutionary  ability,  but  it  lacks 
originality.  Mother's  is  much  more  interesting,  and  I 
pay  her  the  most  attention. 

After  mother  had  read  prayers  and  about  Daniel  in 
the  den  of  lions,  I  thought  I  would  be  a  Daniel  too. 
So,  taking  my  courage  in  my  hands,  I  told  them  of 
my  drive  with  Mr.  Inderwick  and  our  tea  at  West 
Kirby. 

Figuratively  speaking,  Angela's  arms  and  legs  lay  in 
different  parts  of  the  room,  as  limbs  have  a  way  of  doing 
after  the  explosion  of  bombshells;  and  mother's  cap 
leaped  farther  to  the  side  of  her  head. 

I  sat  down  gently  on  the  edge  of  a  chair  and  awaited 
events. 

Mother  was  the  first  to  pull  herself  together.  She 
folded  her  hands,  and  I  rose  and  respectfully  put  her 
cap  straight.  It  was  unseemly  that  mother  should  be 
about  to  speak  as  a  parent  to  an  erring  child,  wearing 
such  a  rakish  aspect.  I  appreciate  the  fitness  of  things. 

Angela  extinguished  the  candle  she  had  lit  prepara- 
tory to  going  to  bed,  and  took  up  her  knitting. 

[210] 


[HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

I  felt  as  though  it  were  Act  I.,  Scene  2.  Wilful 
daughter.  Dutiful  daughter.  Heavy  parent.  I  won- 
dered idly  what  Act  II.  and  III.  would  reveal. 

The  heavy  parent  was  much  briefer  and  more  sym- 
pathetic than  I  anticipated.  Mother  is  often  most 
delightfully  unexpected.  Did  she  remember  she  her- 
self had  once  been  young?  And  did  she  remember 
hiding  in  an  undignified  position  behind  a  coal  cart 
with  father  to  escape  the  stern  paternal  eye  of  Grand- 
father Ridgewood  ? 

I  ventured  respectfully  to  recall  this  little  situation 
to  her,  and  she  said,  after  a  momentary  embarrass- 
ment, that  it  had  been  ill-judged  of  father  to  repeat 
such  a  foolish  story. 

"Besides,  Hazel,"  she  added,  "it  is  the  duty  of  chil- 
dren to  forget  those  things  which  parents  in  occasional 
moments  of  expansion  may  reveal  to  them.  Children 
should  ever  be  blind  to  the  faults  of  their  parents  and 
never  remember  anything  they  may  tell  them." 

"  If  you  really  mean  that,"  I  said,  laughing,  "  I 
shall  go  for  another  drive  with  Mr.  Inderwick  to- 
morrow." 

"  Oh,  Hazel,  Hazel ! "  said  mother  with  a  deep  sigh. 
"  What  a  trial  you  are  to  your  sister  and  me !  All  our 
efforts  to  make  you  a  refined,  well-bred  woman  seem 
to  be  unavailing.  You  confess  to  having  stood  at  the 
gate  talking  to  Mr.  Inderwick  for  at  least  ten  minutes. 
Fancy  a  child  of  mine  behaving  like  a  common  kitchen- 
maid!  If  Mr.  Inderwick  desires  to  see  you  he  must 

[211] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

come — well,  he  must  come  here.  You  are  no  longer  a 
little  girl,  as  he  evidently  imagines." 

"He  doesn't,"  I  said,  feeling  annoyed.  "And  he 
wanted  to  come  in,  but  I  wouldn't  let  him." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  they  cried  together. 

"Oh,  I  said  it  wouldn't  be  convenient,  as  probably 
you  had  both  been  washing  your  heads  and  would  be 
drying  them  in  the  dining-room." 

The  last  I  saw  of  mother  and  Angela  they  were 
sitting,  with  their  jaws  dropped,  staring  into  the  fire. 


[212] 


CHAPTER  XVI 

/  am  a  Little  Poorly,  and  Mr.  Inderwick  Calls 

A  STORM  is  raging  over  Heatherland.    The  wind 
is  sweeping  and  tearing  round  the  house,  and 
booming  away  in  the  tree-tops,  and  wailing 
down  the  chimneys,  and  sobbing  under  the  doors. 
Great  hailstones  keep  dashing  against  my  window  and 
dancing  about  on  the  garden  walks  like  things  de- 
mented.    The  monkey  trees  are  waving  their  long 
arms  about  with  Ophelian  gestures,  and  the  chestnuts 
near  the  gate  groan  and  sway  as  if  in  mortal  agony. 

I  love  a  storm — when  I  am  securely  tucked  away  in 
a  house.  I  like  to  watch  our  gentle,  placid  little  Dee 
churning  and  lashing  itself  up  into  a  miniature  sea,  and 
the  great  inky  clouds  rushing  across  the  leaden  sky. 
To  stand  close  to  the  window  and  laugh  at  the  savage 
hail  straining  to  get  at  you,  and  watch  the  sleet  driving 
in  a  blinding  sheet  across  the  fields,  how  exhilarating  it 
is!  And  to  lie  warm  and  snug  in  bed  on  wild  winter 
nights  and  listen — listen  to  all  that  is  going  on  outside 
— the  rain  and  wind,  and  snow  and  sleet — and  to 
snuggle  the  eiderdown  more  closely  round  you  and 
know  that  none  of  them  can  get  at  you,  how  com- 
forting ! 

[2131 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

Heroines  in  introspective  novels  appear  to  have  such 
curious  sensations  with  regard  to  storms,  and  do  such 
unexpected  things.  They  hang  out  of  windows,  or  go 
for  long  walks  on  cliffs,  and  feel  like  wild  birds,  and 
want  to  be  carried  away  by  the  tempest  and  lose  them- 
selves in  the  whirling  atmosphere.  I  am  so  glad  such 
feelings  do  not  overtake  me;  they  must  be  extremely 
uncomfortable.  I  enjoy  a  storm  as  much  as  any  one 
— in  reason ;  but  I  never  feel  like  a  wild  bird  or  want  to 
do  anything  rash.  I  am  quite  content  to  be  in  my  room 
with  a  nice  bright  fire.  Yes,  I  have  a  fire — the  first 
since  I  had  measles,  when  I  was  fifteen.  I  have  worked 
very  hard  for  it.  When  I  woke  I  was  seized  with  an 
earnest  longing  to  spend  the  day  in  my  room  and  have 
a  fire.  For  some  time  I  cudgelled  my  brains  as  how  to 
achieve  it.  Angela  would  never  consent  on  account  of 
the  extra  work  for  Rose.  "  Have  a  sore  throat " ;  the 
voice  seemed  to  come  from  the  neighborhood  of  the 
washstand,  and  I  sat  up  in  bed  and  stared.  What  a 
brilliant  idea ! 

Soon  I  was  hastening  down  the  passage  in  my 
dressing-gown  and  slippers  to  mother's  room.  She  was 
not  up,  and  I  could  just  see  the  end  of  her  nose  peeping 
forth  from  her  mountainous  feather-bed.  When  she 
gets  into  bed  she  looks  as  though  she  were  climbing 
up  the  side  of  a  house. 

"Mother,"  I  said,  "may  I  have  breakfast  in  bed 
to-day  ?  I  am  a  little  bit  poorly — my  throat — 

She  started  up  and  surveyed  me  anxiously  from 

[214] 


HAZEL  OF     HEATHERLAND 

beneath  her  red  damask  canopy.  My  conscience 
gave  a  nasty  undesirable  twinge. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  very  bad,"  I  said  hastily.  "Would 
you  like  to  look  down  my  throat  ?  " 

This  was  a  safe  invitation.  Mother  can't  look  down 
throats  properly,  she  gets  the  spoon  all  mixed  up  with 
your  tongue. 

"  Go  back  to  bed  at  once,"  she  said  by  way  of  reply. 
"  You'll  catch  your  death  of  cold ;  it  is  a  bitter  morning, 
and  there  is  scarlet  fever  in  the  village.  I  will  come  to 
you  later." 

I  stole  guiltily  back  and  huddled  under  the  clothes. 
I  could  hear  her  calling  Angela,  and  telling  Rose  to 
bring  up  a  teaspoon  from  the  pantry.  I  felt  wretched, 
and  wondered  what  I  should  do.  Could  I  swallow 
some  pink  tooth  powder?  I  put  such  an  unworthy 
thought  from  me.  Mother  and  Angela  arrived  with 
the  spoon  together. 

"  Now  hold  your  tongue  well  down,"  said  Angela. 

"  I  would  rather  mother  looked,"  I  wailed  fractiously. 
They  exchanged  glances. 

"She  looks  flushed,"  said  mother;  "give  the  spoon 
to  me." 

She  hurt  a  good  deal,  and  made  me  choke  violently. 

"  Of  course,  if  you  rear  your  tongue  up  in  that  way, 
Hazel,  it  is  quite  impossible  for  me  to  see,"  said  mother 
at  length,  a  little  irritably. 

I  was  trying  not  to  laugh,  and  buried  my  head  under 
the  clothes.  When  I  felt  it  was  safe  to  emerge  I  whis- 

[215] 


HAZEL   OF    HEATHEBLAND 

pered  faintly  I  was  not  very  bad  and  would  get  up. 
There  was  a  heroism  in  my  voice  which  even  touched 
Angela. 

"No,"  she  said,  "lie  still,  and  Rose  shall  bring  up 
your  breakfast  and  light  the  fire."  She  began  to  re- 
move the  pink  shavings  from  the  fireplace  as  she  spoke. 

My  conscience  gave  another  mighty  leap.  How  I 
wished  I  had  kept  to  the  straight,  narrow  path!  But 
it  was  too  late,  Rose  was  already  appearing  with  the 
breakfast-tray. 

"I  will  get  up  after  a  while  and  sit  in  my  room, 
Angela,"  I  volunteered  amiably. 

"  Not  until  after  dinner;  the  room  will  be  thoroughly 
warm  by  then,"  she  replied  decisively,  as  she  went  out 
and  closed  the  door. 

I  did  not  in  the  least  enjoy  my  breakfast:  cold 
draughts  whistled  round  my  back,  and  crumbs  got 
down  the  bed,  and  the  fire  smoked — the  chimney  was 
damp.  I  was  not  allowed  a  book,  my  arms  must  not 
be  exposed.  Altogether  I  spent  a  wretched,  dull  morn- 
ing. I  counted  the  moments,  when  I  might  get  up. 
Mother  paid  me  three  visits,  and  each  time  she  inquired 
how  I  felt.  On  the  first  occasion  she  brought  me  hot 
black-currant  vinegar,  which  was  very  soothing;  on 
the  second,  a  box  of  jujubes;  and  on  the  third,  her 
second-best,  woolly,  white  shawl.  She  was  very  kind 
and  sympathetic,  and  feeling  absolutely  abject,  I  could 
only  squeeze  her  hand. 

As  soon  as  I  had  swallowed  my  dinner,  which  was 

[216] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

"light  diet  for  an  invalid"  (boiled  mutton),  I  leaped 
out  of  bed,  and  was  dressed  and  sitting  in  mother's 
shawl  before  a  lovely  fire  as  Angela  came  into  the 
room.  She  inquired  if  I  did  not  think  it  a  little  rash, 
and  I  replied  that  I  was  sure  I  should  take  no  harm 
from  it,  and  must  harden  myself  preparatory  to  leaving 
the  room  on  the  morrow.  She  said,  "  Do  you  think  you 
will  be  well  enough  to  go  down  to-morrow  ?  "  and  I  an- 
swered I  thought  I  should.  And  I  think  I  shall,  though 
I  have  enjoyed  this  afternoon  tremendously,  and  feel 
quite  comfortable  about  my  deceit.  The  room  is 
lovely  and  warm  and  comfy  now.  I  have  stuffed  my 
dressing-gown  along  the  bottom  of  the  door  where  the 
carpet  lifts  with  the  wind,  and  I  have  piled  up  the  fire 
till  it  glows  red  and  hot,  and,  with  my  chair  between  the 
fireplace  and  window,  I  can  sit  with  my  feet  toasting  on 
the  fender,  and  my  eyes  on  the  whirling  elements 
outside. 

I  can  see  Sammy  sheltering  in  the  doorway  of  the 
potting-shed  preparatory  to  making  a  dash  across  the 
white,  frozen  lawn.  It  is  too  cold  for  the  hail  to  melt, 
and  it  lies  in  hard  lumps.  He  has  a  sack  pinned  round 
his  shoulders,  and  his  beard  straggles  in  thin  wisps  on 
his  chest.  He  looks  very  miserable  and  cold  and 
pinched.  Poor  old  Sammy !  I  must  wave  to  him. 


[217] 


HAZEL   OF  HEATHERLAND 

I  opened  the  window  two  inches,  and  told  Sammy 
to  go  to  the  kitchen  and  have  some  tea  with  Rose  and 
Elizabeth.  They  have  theirs  early,  sensible  women; 
we  have  to  wait  for  ours  till  five.  And  they  have  theirs 
on  a  nice,  little,  round  wooden  table  in  front  of  the  fire 
and  we  have  ours  laid  at  the  end  of  the  big  table  in  the 
middle  of  the  dining-room,  right  away  from  the  fire. 
When  I  have  a  house  of  my  own  I  shall  do  things  so  dif- 
ferently. I  shall  have  a  fire  in  the  drawing-room  every 
day.  It  won't  look  a  bit  like  a  drawing-room;  every 
chair  will  be  easy,  and  there  will  be  nothing  useless.  I 
shall  go  to  it  the  minute  after  meals,  and  so  escape  the 
lingering  odor  of  cabbage  and  potatoes,  and  the  bissell- 
ing  of  the  crumbs  from  off  the  carpet.  Bissells  are  such 
exasperating  things.  They  trundle  across  the  carpet 
with  a  squeak,  dislodge  you  from  your  chair  because 
your  feet  are  resting  on  a  few  square  inches  of  floor- 
covering  which  may  contain  crumbs,  dance  in  and  out 
of  the  furniture  like  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  and  finally 
hound  you  out  of  the  room.  I  wonder  how  many  times 
I  have  escaped  from  their  clutches  to  the  garden  or  my 
own  bedroom  ?  And  mother  and  Angela  love  bissells ! 

Now  I  am  going  to  have  a  good  read.  I  have  not 
much  choice,  as  my  bookshelf  is  filled  mainly  with 
religious  works  presented  by  mother  and  Angela  to  me 
on  my  different  birthdays.  They  have  always  had 
this  unfortunate  taste  in  literature.  On  my  sixth  birth- 
day Angela  started  me  with  "Morning  Bells"  and 
"  Evening  Thoughts."  It  was  chilly  work  on  a  winter's 

[218] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

night  spelling  out  the  "Evening  Thoughts"  by  the 
light  of  a  solitary  candle,  Angela  keeping  me  well  in 
view  for  fear  I  might  skip  a  portion.  The  book  was 
divided  up  into  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  thoughts, 
and  some  of  them  were  drearier  than  others;  my  own 
by  contrast  were  the  reflections  of  a  master-mind. 

At  ten  years  of  age  I  received  "Gold  Dust,"  the 
binding  of  which  was  pretty  and  looked  well  in  the 
bookcase.  Then  I  was  passed  on  by  degrees  to  Keble's 
"Christian  Year,"  "Daily  Thoughts  for  the  Young" 
(these  were  thoughts  for  morning  as  well  as  evening), 
"Being  and  Doing,"  "Advice  to  Young  Christians," 
and  Jeremy  Taylor's  "Holy  Living  and  Holy  Dying." 
Jeremy  I  like  the  best  of  the  lot ;  he  is  a  dear. 

In  addition  to  these  religious  volumes  I  have  a  few 
secular  ones.  First  of  all,  and  prime  favorite  with  me 
as  a  child  and  even  grown  up,  is  "Alice  in  Wonder- 
land." Alice  has  ever  been  my  best  friend.  When 
Angela  snubbed  me  Alice  comforted  me.  She  sat  with 
me  in  the  sunny  garden  and  suggested  mad  tea-parties, 
with  Sammy  as  the  hatter,  which  honor  he  always  po- 
litely declined.  She  went  to  the  shore  with  me,  and 
Dibbs  and  I  "  set  to  partners  "  on  the  yellow  sands  and 
sang — 

"Will  you,  won't  you? 
Will  you,  won't  you  ? 
Won't  you  join  the  dance?" 

She  was  my  companion  in  the  fields  and  on  the  com- 
mons while  Dibbs  and  I  searched  for  the  white  rabbit. 

[219] 


HAZEL  OP  HEATHERLAND 

She^tucked  herself  into  bed  with  me  at  night,  and 
j^eped  at  me  in  alluring  fashion  in  the  early  morning. 
WItere  I  went,  she  went,  never  failing  to  bring  me 
pleasure  and  absorbing  interest;  and  here's  to  your 
health  and  long  life,  dear  Alice — in  black-currant  vine- 
gar— and  may  you  bring  much  simple  happiness  to 
millions  of  children  now  and  in  the  ages  to  come ! 

Next  to  Alice,  *I  have  held  steadfast  in  my  regard 
"Jane  Eyre,"  "The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth,"  and 
"The  Moonstone-,"  three  enchanting  books.  When 
mother  and  Angela  are  present  I  say  I  like  Scott  and 
Lytton  and  Thackeray — they  are  standard  authors, 
and  I  am  bound  to  like  them — and  privately  I  adore 
"  The  Newcomes."  They  think  it  shows  an  uneducated 
taste  to  prefer  Wilkie  Collins  to  Lytton.  Angela  is 
frequently  suggesting  I  shall  read  something  to  im- 
prove my  mind — Carlyle,  Ruskin,  Schiller,  Goethe. 
Now,  if  there  is  anything  I  detest  it  is  an  improving-to- 
your-mind  book.  I  don't  think  on  the  face  of  the  earth 
there  is  anything  more  dreary.  I  tried  a  bit  of  Schiller 
once  on  a  Sunday  afternoon,  a  translation;  I  don't 
know  a  word  of  German.  I  read  a  page,  and  felt  I  was 
in  a  fog.  I  turned  back  and  read  it  over  again;  this 
time  I  was  sure  I  wasn't  right.  I  tried  it  a  third  time, 
and  then  I  went  for  "  A  Woman  in  White."  I  am  never 
going  to  read  dry  books  for  the  sake  of  saying  I  have 
read  them.  I  am  not  clever  or  learned,  and  don't  want 
to  be.  You  have  so  much  more  fun  in  life  if  you  are 
not  expected  to  be  clever. 

[220] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

To  fill  up  the  blank  spaces  in  my  bookcase  I  have 
placed  Tupper's  "  Proverbial  Philosophy,"  Locke  "  On 
the  Understanding,"  and  Burton's  "Anatomy  of  Mel- 
ancholy." I  found  them  in  the  cellar.  Tupper  has  a 
nice  back — blue  with  little  gold  stars.  Then  I  have 
several  poets.  I  am  going  to  whisper  something  now— 
I  am  not  devoted  to  Shakespeare.  Was  there  ever  a 
braver  or  more  truthful  girl  ?  I  like  Tennyson  and 
Shelley  and  Byron  a  thousand  times  better.  Maud, 
with  her  head  running  over  with  curls,  and  the  poor 
man  lying  on  that  Breton  shore  talking  to  little  shells 
after  he  had  killed  her  brother;  oh,  how  dreadful  it 
was!  Great  tears  come  into  my  eyes.  If  I  had  been 
Maud  I  should  have  rushed  after  him  and  married  him 
as  fast  as  I  could.  Women  are  so  superior  and  uppish 
in  poetry. 

Two  poets  I  have  stuck  together  at  the  back  of  the 
shelf  in  a  dark  corner — Chaucer  and  Burns.  Men 
should  not  be  allowed  to  write  in  Early  English  and 
Scotch :  I  would  sooner  read  Latin. 


Why  don't  I  flourish  like  a  green  bay  tree  ?  On  two 
occasions  within  the  last  fortnight  I  have  been  des- 
perately deceitful — the  store-cupboard  key  and  my 
sore  throat!  And  I  haven't  flourished  and  don't  flourish. 
Judgment  descends  upon  and  crushes  me  as  remorse- 

[221] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

lessly  as  a  veritable  Juggernaut.  According  to  the 
promise  set  forth  in  the  Bible,  I  should  at  the  moment 
be  having  a  real  good  time  in  the  dining-room  with  Mr. 
Inderwick.!  for  he  is  here,  and  is  drinking  tea  with  my 
family;  instead  of  which  I  am  sitting  in  a  dull,  cold, 
and  depressing  bedroom,  and  no  more  resemble  a  green 
bay  tree  than  a  shrivelled,  brown  nettle  does  an  arum 

lily. 

It  is  too  exasperating.  What  Mr.  Inderwick  can  be 
thinking  of  to  go  paying  calls  in  first-class  typhoons 
beats  my  feeble  comprehension.  He  may  enjoy  slates 
and  chimney-pots  whizzing  through  the  air,  but  it 
seems  a  dangerous  amusement.  And  he  still  limps. 
When  the  front  gate  banged,  and  I  saw  a  man  being 
blown  up  the  walk,  I  thought,  at  first,  it  was  Sammy. 
It  was  getting  dark,  and  I  watched  him  idly  from  the 
window.  As  he  approached  the  house,  however,  and 
the  rugged  figure  and  big  shoulders  loomed  more 
clearly  out  of  the  gloom  there  was  no  mistaking  it — it 
was  Mr.  Inderwick,  with  his  hat  jammed  firmly  on  to 
his  head,  and  his  body  enveloped  in  a  huge,  rough 
overcoat.  He  did  not  see  me,  and  in  a  trice  I  had 
kicked  off  my  slippers,  tiptoed  down  the  passage,  and, 
craning  my  neck  over  the  banisters,  was  just  in  time  to 
hear  him  inquire  if  Mrs.  Wycherley  were  at  home,  see 
him  shake  himself  like,  a  Newfoundland  dog,  and  follow 
Rose  into  the  dining-room.  And  of  course  that  pert 
Rose  looked  up  and  caught  me  peeping — her  eyes  are 
all  over  the  place — and  when  she  brought  up  my  tea 

[222] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

a  few  minutes  ago  she  observed  cheerfully  it  was  a  pity 
I  was  so  poorly,  as  Mr.  Inderwick  had  just  asked  for 
me.  I  told  her  to  shut  the  door  and  bring  me  up  some 
more  coal. 

Rose  is  somewhat  familiar  at  times;  she  is  the  late 
Crabby 's  cowman's  daughter,  and  appears  to  think  it 
her  duty  to  discuss  old  Crabby's  nephew,  and  I  don't. 

It  was  quite  unnecessary,  too,  for  Angela  to  send 
me  up  another  box  of  jujubes  and  more  currant  vinegar. 
Her  attentions  are  oppressive,  especially  as  I  told  her 
I  was  much  better. 

Oh,  dear,  what  a  wretched  girl  I  am !  Such  an  ex- 
traordinarily unattractive  day  for  a  man  to  select  to 
pay  calls,  and  dangerous.  A  flying  chimney-pot  might 
have  struck  him  on  the  head,  or  a  tree  snapped  and 
knocked  him  down. 

I  wonder  if  Angela's  eyes  would  fall  out  of  her  head 
if  I  donned  Aunt  Menelophe's  tea-gown,  floated  into 
the  dining-room  with  a  society  woman's  languid, 
graceful  movements,  and,  dropping  on  to  a  couch,  mo- 
tioned Mr.  Inderwick  to  my  side.  Would  she  ever 
survive  it  ?  I  wish  I  had  the  courage  to  do  it.  A  brave 
girl  would;  a  courageous  girl  wouldn't  think  twice 
about  it;  a  girl  with  plenty  of  backbone  would  be 
there  by  now.  It  would  be  a  natural  and  everyday 
occurrence  for  her  to  be  robed  in  an  elegant  tea-gown 
at  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  to  descend  from 
her  rose-tinted  boudoir  to  take  tea  with  her  family. 
7  will  be  a  girl  with  a  backbone,  I  will  do  iU 

[223] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

I  have  flung  Jeremy  Taylor  into  a  corner — he  has 
been  sort  of  winking  at  me  all  the  afternoon — and  the 
jujubes  after  him,  nasty,  sticky  abominations ! 


[224] 


CHAPTER  XVII 

/  Unfortunately  Knock  off  a  Piece  of  Angela's  Hair, 
and  She  is  Extremely  Annoyed 

THAT  was  yesterday.  It  was  yesterday  I  de- 
scended from  my  rose-tinted  boudoir  and  in 
trailing,  silken  garments  floated  into  the  dining- 
room  as  bright  and  radiant  as  a  green  bay  tree,  which 
was  my  due;  and  to-day  I  am  picking  onions,  and  feel 
like  a  blighted  weeping  willow.  To  say  that  I  gave 
them  a  shock  would  be  using  the  mildest  and  most 
restrained  of  language.  Even  Dibbs  sat  up  on  his 
hind  legs  and  wailed,  in  the  same  way  that  emotional 
people  weep  when  they  see  a  beautiful  picture  or  hear 
divine  music.  Dibbs  is  peculiarly  sensitive.  Angela 
almost  sat  up  on  her  hind  legs,  only  Mr.  Inderwick's 
presence  restrained  her.  I  never  realized  before  that 
one's  eyes  could  be  so  prominent  unless  suffering  from 
heart  disease.  Mother  put  two  shrimps  into  her 
second  cup  of  tea  and  several  lumps  of  sugar  on  to  her 
plate.  Mr.  Inderwick  was  the  only  controlled  member 
of  the  party.  He  drew  up  an  armchair  to  the  fire  for 
me,  and,  thanking  him  gracefully,  I  leaned  back 
15  [225] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

against  the  one  hard  cushion  and  green  wool  anti- 
macassar, and  gave  a  little  sigh. 

I  did  not  give  them  time  to  speak,  it  would  have 
been  fatal.  My  backbone  was  of  steel,  but  it  was 
vulnerable ;  they  mustn't  get  one  home.  I  told  mother 
I  would  have  one  cup  of  tea,  as  she  was  so  pressing.  I 
thanked  Angela  for  the  jujubes,  which  had  relieved 
me  considerably.  I  inquired  sympathetically  after 
Mr.  Inderwick's  ankle,  and  I  gathered  Dibbs,  who  was 
dirty,  on  to  my  knee,  with  a  fine  disregard  for  the 
delicate  and  priceless — to  me — texture  of  my  gown. 
I  was  accustomed  to  tea-gowns  billowing  round  me 
like  lemon  sponge.  It  was  annoying  that  Dibbs  should 
sniff  at  the  lemon  sponge  as  though  he  had  not  met  it 
before,  obliging  me  to  restrain  him  with  gentle  though 
forceful  hand,  but  perhaps  it  was  not  observed. 

It  was  a  strain,  too,  to  one's  mental  faculties  keeping 
an  eye  upon  Angela.  She  was  gathering  together  her 
resources;  three  times  she  drew  breath,  and  three  times, 
with  unerring  skill,  I  parried  that  breath.  I  took  the 
sentences  out  of  her  mouth,  leaving  her  gaping.  I 
chattered,  I  talked,  I  laughed,  I  scintillated;  my  con- 
versation would  have  rivalled  Horace  Walpole's.  Mr. 
Inderwick,  without  an  invitation,  drew  his  chair  nearer 
to  mine,  and  his  staring  was  more  protracted  than 
usual.  Mother,  after  ringing  the  bell  for  Rose  to  re- 
move the  tea  things,  took  up  her  knitting,  as  is  her 
customary  habit,  but  did  not  knit.  The  four  needles 
lay  inert  on  her  lap;  her  lips  were  parted,  and  her  eyes 
[226] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

rested  upon  my  face  as  though  it  were  strange  to  her. 
Only  Angela  remained  at  the  table,  fixed,  immovable, 
awaiting  her  opportunity.  I  did  not  see  her  with  my 
eyes — I  was  talking  to  Mr.  Inderwick — but  her  presence 
filled  the  entire  room — that  waiting,  ominous,  silent 
figure.  It  oppressed  me,  but  I  rattled  on.  It  seemed 
to  suffocate  me,  and  my  voice  faltered ;  but  still  I  strug- 
gled gamely,  and  then  Mr.  Inderwick  rose  to  go.  I  was 
saved.  My  gratitude  to  him  was  unbounded.  I  smiled 
up  at  him,  and  insisted  upon  going  to  the  door.  A 
breath  of  fresh  air  would  do  me  good,  I  said,  and  swept 
out  into  the  hall  before  him.  He  closed  the  dining-room 
door  behind  him,  probably  fearing  the  draughts  for 
mother,  and  was  a  long  time  in  putting  on  his  coat.  I 
felt  that  Rose  was  peeping  again,  and  began  to  feel 
nervous. 

"  Is  your  ankle  quite  well  ?  "  I  asked  jerkily,  forget- 
ing  that  I  had  already  put  this  question  to  him  twice. 

His  answer  was  quite  beside  the  mark — 

"  When  will  you  come  for  another  drive  ?  " 

"Never,"  I  replied  quickly,  beginning  to  open  the 
hall  door. 

He  closed  it  again  quietly. 

"I  am  not  going  yet,  I  have  lost  my  gloves.     Why 
won't  you  come  ?  " 

"I  can't." 

"  Were  they  angry  with  you  ?    I  wanted  to  come  the 
following  day,  but  the  doctor  wouldn't  allow  it." 

"You  are  not  looking  for  your  gloves,"  I  observed. 
[227] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

"  Never  mind  them."  He  spoke  impatiently.  "  Were 
they  angry  with  you  ?  " 

"A  little." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  and  his  face  went  quite  gentle 
and  soft. 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  mind,"  I  remarked  hurriedly.  I  was 
convinced  Rose  was  peeping,  and  he  was  looking  at  me 
in  a  way  that  made  me  wish  he  wouldn't. 

"What  were  your  gloves  like,  and  where  did  you 
put  them?"  I  inquired  brilliantly,  again  opening  the 
door. 

This  time  he  closed  it  without  speaking,  and  stood 
as  though  lost  in  thought.  I  was  sure  the  dining-room 
door  opened  an  inch,  and  I  felt  desperate. 

"Mr.  Inderwick,  are  you  going  to  take  up  your 
abode  at  Shady  Oak  ?  It  is  a  little  cold  here,  and  my 
gown  is  thin." 

"I  wish  I  could." 

I  was  unprepared  for  such  an  answer,  and  he  spoke 
with  such  earnestness  that  my  cheeks  went  hot  and  my 
heart  jumped.  Supposing  they  had  heard  him.  I 
made  another  hurried  movement  toward  the  door,  but 
he  forestalled  me. 

"I  never  saw  any  one  so  anxious  to  get  rid  of  a 
guest.  Are  you  usually  as  rude  to  your  friends  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  cold,"  I  replied  lamely. 

"  Is  that  why  you  wear  a  thin  silk  gown  ?  " 

"  It  is  lined  and  quite  warm." 

"It  is  very  pretty." 

[228] 


"Aunt  Menelophe  gave  it  to  me." 

"She's  first-class  taste.    You  look  splendid  in  it." 

I  sat  down  limply.  I  had  distinctly  heard  a  sup- 
pressed sound  from  the  neighborhood  of  the  kitchen. 

"Mr.  Inderwick,  I  don't  wish  to  appear  impolite, 
but  if  you  are  staying  will  you  return  with  me  to  the 
dining-room  ?  It  really  is  cold  out  here." 

He  smiled  and  shook  hands. 

"Your  hand  is  very  warm,"  he  said  calmly.  "I 
don't  think  you  are  cold  really,  but  I  am  going." 

"  Have  you  found  your  gloves  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  bring  any  now  I  come  to  think  of  it.  Shall 
you  be  at  church  on  Christmas  morning  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  away  ?  " 

"No,  I  have  changed  my  mind;  there  are  difficulties 
in  the  way — the  farm " 

"I  see." 

"  Besides,  I  would  like  to  help  you  with  the  church 
decorations  if  I  may  ?  " 

"  Help  me  with  the  decorations  ?  "  This  man  would 
never  cease  to  astonish  me. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Gates  told  me  you  had  undertaken  the 
font." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  Mrs.  Gates,  but  she  is  not  very 
exact.  I  merely  said  when  she  called  to  solicit  our 
annual  contribution  of  holly  and  evergreens  that  I 
might  possibly  go  one  day." 

"Which  day  do  you  think  it  will  be?"  he  asked 
imperturbably. 

[229] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

"  It  depends  on  the  mince-pies." 

"  I  don't  wish  to  appear  curious,  but  I  should  be  glad 
if  you  will  explain  the  connection  ?  " 

He  put  his  foot  inside  the  door  to  prevent  my  clos- 
ing it. 

"  Are  you  under  the  impression  that  I  am  a  prisoner 
at  the  bar  and  you  the  counsel  for  cross-examination, 
Mr.  Inderwick?  If  so,  I  will  fetch  a  shawl."  I  spoke 
with  some  asperity,  and  pushed  the  door  against  his 
boot. 

"One  moment,  please,  Miss  Hazel,  then  I  will  go. 
About  the  mince-pies.  Won't  you  explain  ?  Do  you 
take  them  to  the  church  to  refresh  you  ?  " 

I  laughed  in  spite  of  myself.  His  persistence  made 
me  feel  weak. 

"I  don't  know  why  I  gratify  your  curiosity,  but 
Christmas  week  is  a  busy  time  with  us.  One  day  we 
make  scores  of  mince-pies.  Angela  makes  the  pastry, 
and  I  butter  the  tins  and  fill,  and  put  on  the  lids  and 
cross  them  with  a  skewer 

"  Cross  them  with  a  skewer  ?  " 

"Don't  interrupt,"  I  said.  "The  following  day  we 
distribute  these  mince-pies  among  the  undeserving 
villagers.  It  takes  us  hours — Heatherland  straggles, 
and  we  walk  for  miles." 

"  I  could  help  you  with  that." 

I  disregarded  the  interruption. 

"Another  day  we  decorate  the  church,  that  also 
takes  us  hours;  there  are  the  wreaths  and  texts,  and 

[230] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

gossip  and  tea  in  the  vestry.     Christmas  Day  falls  on 
a  Thursday  this  year " 

"So  that  probably  will  mean  mince-pies  Monday, 
distribution  to  undeserving  villagers  Tuesday,  church 
decorations  Wednesday.  I  will  be  there  on  Wednes- 
day, December  24th,  and  will  cut  you  all  your  holly 
ready  for  the  wreaths,  if  you  will  allow  me  ?  " 

"It  is  prickly  work.  Good-night,  Mr.  Inderwick," 
I  said. 

"Good-night;  it  could  not  be  more  prickly  than  a 
young  lady  I  know.  Don't  forget  Wednesday,"  said 
he,  as  he  went  away  into  the  darkness. 

I  smiled  to  myself,  and,  much  refreshed  and  stimu- 
lated, returned  to  the  den  of  lions.  At  any  rate,  I  had 
one  nice  friend  in  the  world. 

She  shan't  snub  me,  she  shan't  dictate  to  me,  she 
shan't  sit  on  me,"  I  said  to  myself  as  I  opened  the  door. 

Angela  was  hemming  a  table-cloth  and  mother 
was  knitting.  Jauntily  I  walked  down  the  room — my 
train  gave  me  courage — and  seated  myself  on  the  arm 
of  mother's  chair.  She  did  not  look  up.  I  spoke  ca- 
ressingly to  Dibbs,  and  he  merely  replied  with  a  snore. 
I  glanced  at  Angela,  and  debated  as  to  whether  she 
were  human  or  a  stone  image.  I  attempted  to  whistle 
cheerfully,  and  my  whistle  gave  out.  I  swung  my  foot 
backward  and  forward,  and  mother  requested  me  to 
be  still.  At  the  end  of  five  minutes  I  rose. 

"  I  think  I  will  return  to  my  room,"  I  observed  care- 
lessly. 

[231] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

"Your  fire  has  been  extinguished  and  the  windows 
thrown  open  for  ventilation;  the  night  air  might  be 
injurious  to  your  health." 

The  sound  came  from  the  neighborhood  of  Angela's 
larynx,  but  it  was  unlike  a  voice.  It  was  unlike  any- 
thing I  had  ever  heard. 

I  sat  down  again  and  watched  her  hem.  I  felt  unable 
to  do  anything — that  voice  had  bereft  me  of  speech.  The 
needle  clicking  against  her  silver  thimble  so  evenly  and 
smoothly  held  me  fascinated.  Her  cotton  never  knotted 
as  does  mine;  she  never  missed  a  stitch.  Rapidly  her 
white  fingers  worked  their  way  along  the  linen  with  such 
regularity,  such  monotony,  that  I  felt  I  should  shriek. 
If  only  she  would  prick  one  of  them,  or  break  her  needle ! 
If  only  she  would  speak,  say  something,  lecture  me, 
scold  me — anything  but  that  silent  and  remorseless 
hemming!  She  neared  the  end,  the  last  stitch  was 
taken,  the  thread  was  broken  off.  Deliberately  she 
folded  her  work,  deliberately  she  raised  her  eyes,  slowly 
and  deliberately  she  allowed  those  cold  blue  orbs  to 
rest  upon  me.  My  time  was  come. 

"I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  Hazel." 

"Well?" 

"  Were  you  really  poorly  this  morning  ?  " 

"No." 

"No  sore  throat?" 

"No." 

"  Anything  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"No." 

[282] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

"  Your  illness  was  an  entire  fabrication  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  hear  that,  mother?"  Mother  shuffled. 
"  Do  you  hear,  mother  ?  " 

uYes." 

Dear  mother  sounded  unhappy. 

Angela  took  out  another  piece  of  work  from  her 
basket  and  resumed  her  sewing.  I  noticed  it  was  a 
baby's  pink  head-flannel,  and  it  seemed  an  anachronism. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  I  asked  breathlessly. 

ttThat  is  all.  It  may  appear  strange  to  you,  but  I 
have  no  further  desire  to  converse  with  a  liar — a  de- 
ceitful liar — with  one  who  decks  herself  out  after  the 
manner  of  strange  women,  and  who  with  men  is  bold 
and  forward." 

Was  it  a  kindly,  sympathetic  Providence  who 
steadied  my  arm  and  enabled  me  to  aim  that  hard 
cushion  unerringly  at  the  head  of  my  sister  and — 
dislodge  a  piece  of  her  dead  hair  ? 

In  the  first  flush  of  victory  a  rare,  strange  feeling  of 
satisfaction  and  elation  crept  through  my  veins.  I  felt 
as  a  sportsman  must  feel.  I  was  the  sportsman,  Angela 
a  partridge;  and  I  had  hit  her,  and  for  the  moment  I 
loved  her  as  a  victor  can  afford  to  love  a  vanquished  foe. 

But  when  I  caught  sight  of  the  hair  lying  like  a  pale, 
dead  snake  upon  the  carpet  my  teeth  chattered  and 
the  strength  went  out  of  my  body.  I  had  unwittingly 
laid  bare  my  sister's  one  little  feminine  weakness,  her 
one  little  vanity,  her  one  weak  human  spot.  For  long 

[233] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

I  had  guessed  that  all  those  neat,  shining  coils  upon  her 
head  were  not  grown  there.  I  had  observed  that  those 
coils  when  down  and  being  dried  in  front  of  the  dining- 
room  fire  were  thinner  and  rattier  and  skimpier  than 
when  up ;  but  I  had  never  been  able  to  investigate  this 
delicate  matter  closely.  Angela's  door  is  securely 
fastened  at  night. 

My  knees  turned  in  from  weakness  as  I  crept  across 
the  carpet  and,  picking  up  the  shiny  snake,  offered  it  to 
her  with  humility.  But  she  took  no  notice  of  it  or  me; 
we  might  have  been  beggar-women  who  could  have 
found  charing.  Gently  I  dropped  it  on  to  the  table  in 
front  of  her,  and  was  preparing  to  creep  away  when  a 
stifled  sound  from  mother  caused  me  to  pause.  I 
turned,  and  found  her  making  violent  pantomimic 
gestures.  They  fascinated  me  for  an  instant,  the  con- 
tortions of  her  face  were  so  truly  remarkable. 

"What  is  it?  What  do  you  want  me  to  do?"  I 
grimaced  back  at  her. 

Quickly  she  pointed  a  finger  at  Angela,  whose 
wounded  back  was  turned  to  us.  Then  it  became  clear 
to  me — I  was  to  apologize,  I  was  to  say  I  was  sorry. 
I  wondered  I  had  not  grasped  it  sooner. 

"Never!"  I  shouted.  Mother's  lip  gave  an  ominous 
tremble.  " Never! "  I  reiterated  fiercely,  steeling  myself 
against  the  tremble.  "Never!  It  was  her  own  fault." 

"Do,  Hazel.  Angela  will  never  forgive  you,"  she 
whispered. 

"I  don't  care;  I  don't  want  her  forgiveness.  She 
[234] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

called  me  a  liar  and  shameless."  I  was  lashing  up  my 
anger.  The  bare  patches  on  Angela's  head  had  at  first 
awed  me,  but  now  I  was  becoming  accustomed  to  the 
sight  my  courage  was  returning.  "  She  must  apologize 
to  me  this  time,  and  I — may  forgive  her,"  I  added  with 
magnanimity.  I  spoke  loudly,  and  drew  up  the  easy- 
chair  to  the  fire,  turning  up  my  silk  gown  to  prevent 
singeing.  Mother  looked  positively  aghast.  "  I  am  not 
a  little  girl,"  I  continued.  "  For  the  sake  of  peace  and 
quietness  I  have  always  given  in  to  Angela.  I  have 
submitted  to  being  ordered  about,  dictated  to,  bossed, 
and  I  will  stand  it  no  longer.  From  this  moment  there 
will  be  a  change,  a  big  change."  My  voice  rang  out 
defiantly.  "  When  I  choose  to  stay  in  my  bedroom  and 
have  a  fire  I  shall  consult  you  alone.  I  shan't  be  driven 
to  have  a  sore  throat :  Angela  forced  me  to  have  a  sore 

throat,  Ang " 

I  stopped  dead,  for  Angela  had  slowly  turned  her 
head  and  was  fixing  me  with  an  eye.  It  is  difficult  to 
explain,  it  is  impossible,  it  is  beyond  the  descriptive 
powers  of  an  ordinary  human  being  to  describe  that 
eye  of  Angela's.  It  was  her  right  eye;  her  head  was 
only  partly  turned,  and  the  left  eye  was  not  visible. 
Perhaps  one  eye  is  more  awful  than  two;  I  cannot  say; 
I  only  know  that  my  courage  went.  It  did  not  ooze 
after  the  ordinary  habits  of  courage  about  to  depart, 
it  just  went  like  a  rocket.  One  moment  I  sat  with 
folded  arms,  Napoleon-like  in  my  attitude,  defying  the 
world ;  the  next  I  was  standing  behind  my  sister's  chair, 

[2351 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

saying,  "  I  am  sorry,  Angela,  sorry  for  knocking  off  your 
hair,  and  I  will  never  do  it  again." 

And  that  is  why  to-day  I  feel  like  a  blighted  weeping 
willow,  and  stand  in  my  old  brown  stuff  frock  pickling 
onions.  I  am  a  craven,  a  coward;  I  am  pulpy  and 
characterless.  I  am  perfectly  aware  that  Elizabeth 
should  pickle  onions,  and  not  I;  her  eyes  should  be 
watering,  and  not  mine ;  her  hands  should  be  tying  the 
bladders  on  the  top  of  the  jars,  and  not  mine;  but 
Angela  willed  it  so.  Angela  decreed  that  I  should 
pickle  onions  as  a  penance.  She  did  not  say  so,  but  I 
know  it.  Yesterday  I  knocked  off  her  dead  hair,  to-day 
I  pickle  onions :  the  connection  is  obvious. 

I  am  a  woman,  I  am  twenty-one;  I  am  tall  and 
strong  in  body,  with  a  fine  digestion  and  abundance 
of  courage  toward  the  world  generally — toward  every- 
thing and  everybody — till  Angela  comes  along,  then  I 
shrink  into  an  infant  of  six  months.  Why  should  this 
be  ?  Am  I  really  weak,  really  cowardly  ?  or  is  Angela 
something  not  human?  She  may  be  one  of  a  stone 
species.  There  was  a  Stone  Age,  why  not  a  stone 
species?  And  yet  that  false  hair!  People  of  stone 
wouldn't  mind  thin  places  and  bald  patches,  they 
wouldn't  consider  their  appearance.  Yes,  Angela  is 
human ;  it  is  7  who  am  at  fault.  I  have  allowed  he:  to 
rule  me  since  the  day  I  was  born,  and  now  when  the 
yoke  has  become  intolerable  I  am  too  weak  and  cow- 
ardly to  throw  it  off.  But  I  have  put  four  times  too 
many  peppercorns  into  the  pickle  and  two  ounces  of 
cayenne,  and  Angela  doesn't  like  hot  things. 

[236] 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

Mr.  Inderwick  Asks  a  Direct  Question,  and  I  Reply 

WHEN  I  looked  out  of  my  bedroom  window 
this  morning  my  sleepy  eyes  rested  upon  a 
soft  tumble  of  swansdown  and  velvety  blue 
sky  and  white  trees  heavily  laden.  There  had  been  a 
fall  of  snow  in  the  night — the  elements  had  planned 
for  once  to  be  seasonable — and  the  whole  world — my 
world,  the  Welsh  hills,  and  fields  and  garden  and  oak 
trees  were  of  a  dazzling  whiteness,  all  save  the  big, 
solemn  trunks  which  showed  up  green,  and  the  little 
holes  which  Sammy's  and  Dibbs's  feet  had  made  in 
trampling  across  the  lawn. 

"  How  wonderfully  beautiful ! "  I  murmured.  "  How 
good  to  be  alive  in  spite  of — Angela  and  things  like 
pickled  onions,"  and  yet  a  few  hours  later  I  was  almost 
wishing  that  Hazel  Wycherley  were  snuffed  out.  For 
I  have  dealt  a  man — one  of  the  nicest  of  men — a  nasty 
knock,  and  I  would  have  given  much  to  have  been  able 
to  stay  my  hand,  but  I  couldn't. 

Robert  Inderwick  asked  me  this  afternoon  to  be  his 
wife,  and  I  have  said  "No."  I  pause  now  and  wonder 

[237] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

what  made  me,  for  the  moment  he  had  gone  a  feeling 
of  desolation  fell  upon  me;  I  felt  all  queer  and  empty 
inside,  but  perhaps  that  was  because  we  had  been  such 
good  friends,  had  seen  so  much  of  each  other  lately. 
I  naturally  missed  him,  as  I  should  miss  any  friend. 
I  wonder. 

When  I  think  of  his  face  as  I  said  "Good-by"  I 
could  sob,  and  it  seems  so  strange  to  think  that  I  have 
been  able  to  call  up  such  a  look  on  any  man's  face.  It 
almost  makes  me  feel  frightened,  frightened  and  yet 
curiously  happy.  Whatever  else  in  life  lies  before  me — 
whatever  sorrow,  loneliness,  misery — I  shall  always 
have  that  to  look  back  upon,  that  once  Robert  Inder- 
wick  loved  me  greatly  and  wished  me  to  be  his  wife; 
he  did  me  that  honor.  So  few  people  have  loved  me — 
only  father  and — Aunt  Menelophe — I  think  she  cares 
for  me  a  little,  and  mother  might  if  Angela  would  allow 
her. 

If  only  I  could  have  said  "Yes"  instead  of  "No." 
But  I  could  not  go  to  him  empty-handed,  give  nothing. 
He  said  that  he  had  enough  love  for  both  of  us,  and 
that  he  would  teach  me  to  care  for  him  after  we  were 
married.  But  I  don't  want  to  be  taught;  I  want  to 
love  him  spontaneously.  I  want  to  love  as  well  as  be 
loved.  If  I  don't  love  him  now,  I  am  sure  I  shouldn't 
afterward — I  could  never  be  taught.  And  I  don't  feel 
I  could  settle  in  Heatherland  for  the  rest  of  my  days. 
And  I  am  sure  his  untidy  clothes  would  worry  me. 
To-day,  for  instance,  there  was  a  bit  of  white  woolly 

[238] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

stuff  poking  out  of  his  tie  where  the  silk  was  all  worn — 
he  has  worn  the  same  tie  for  three  months,  and  it  is  so 
ugly;  and  his  boot-laces  were  knotted  in  three  places. 
Now  I  could  not  marry  a  man  who  wore  ties  with  pro- 
truding insides.  So  that  clearly  proves  I  don't  love 
him.  Such  trifles  wouldn't  affect  me  in  the  least  if  I 
loved  him  tremendously. 

He  says  I  expect  too  much  of  love,  that  most  women 
do.  That  they  go  analyzing  and  probing  into  their 
feelings  and  wondering  "Do  I  love  him  sufficiently? 
Is  this  love,  or  am  I  only  pleased  and  flattered  ?  "  That 
they  keep  pulling  up  this  poor  love  by  the  roots 
like  a  radish  to  see  how  it  is  growing,  till  they  have 
killed  it. 

But  I  am  not  like  that,  for  I  have  kept  putting  the 
whole  thing  from  me.  I  think  for  the  last  few  weeks 
I  have  been  realizing  vaguely  that  Robert  Inderwick 
was  beginning  to  like  me  a  little,  but  I  wouldn't  allow 
myself  to  believe  it  or  think  about  it.  I  knew,  if  it  were 
so,  that  all  our  fun  and  pleasant  friendship  must  cease; 
that  I  must  no  longer  meet  him  for  walks  or  have  good 
times  with  him ;  all  would  be  ended,  and  my  life  duller 
than  ever.  No,  I  have  not  allowed  myself  to  think,  and 
we  might  have  gone  on  in  the  same  jolly,  friendly  way 
for  months  if  only  I  had  not  made  an  idiot  of  myself, 
and  cried.  That  weeping  precipitated  matters;  I 
might  have  known  he  would  just  be  the  sort  of  man  to 
go  and  get  upset  by  a  girl's  silly  tears,  and  yet  I  could 
not  help  it.  If  a  Spanish  Inquisition  man  had  come 

[239] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

along  and  said,  "  Now,  if  you  shed  one  tear  I  shall  pop 
you  on  the  rack,"  I  should  still  have  cried.  There  are 
moments  when  you  can  no  more  prevent  yourself  from 
doing  a  thing  than  you  can  stop  yourself  breathing  for 
any  length  of  time. 

And  the  cause  of  my  distress  was  nothing  very  seri- 
ous, nothing  more  than  usual — it  was  only  Angela. 
Angela  had  tried  me  sorely,  it  is  true,  but  then  she 
always  tries  me  sorely.  She  had  given  me  Fox's  "  Book 
of  Martyrs  "  for  a  Christmas  present  at  breakfast,  and 
she  knew  how  much  I  wanted  a  lace  collar.  Then  at 
dinner  she  gave  me  a  lecture;  I  preferred  the  martyrs. 
She  said  it  had  been  hinted  to  her  by  Mrs.  Gates — old 
cat! — that  all  Heatherland  was  gossiping  about  the 
outrageous  way  I  had  flirted  with  Mr.  Inderwick  when 
we  were  decorating  the  font;  that  he,  poor  man,  had 
made  several  efforts  to  remind  me  that  I  was  in  a  place 
of  worship,  but  I  would  not  be  snubbed.  I  fairly  sat 
and  gasped  with  rage,  but  mother's  imploring  eye  and 
the  white  cotton-wool  text  over  the  sideboard,  "Peace 
on  earth,  goodwill  toward  men,"  helped  me  to  confine 
my  anger  to  long  gasps.  In  addition  she  observed  that 
the  mince-pies  were  as  heavy  as  lead — I  made  the 
pastry  this  week — and  that  I  looked  sallow — just  as 
though  everybody  didn't  look  sallow  in  the  snow — and 
was  I  bilious. 

As  she  swallowed  her  last  fragment  of  walnut  I 
bolted  from  the  room,  seized  my  hat  and  jacket,  and 
dashed  out  of  the  house.  I  felt  I  must  have  air,  space, 

[240] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

to  be  alone;  above  all,  to  be  alone  in  the  beautiful  still 
whiteness,  quite  alone.  And  then — if  Mr.  Inderwick 
didn't  appear,  just  as  I  was  turning  on  to  Oldfield 
Common,  and  join  me  on  my  walk,  in  the  way  he 
always  does  appear  to  join  people  on  their  walks,  for 
all  the  world  like  a  collie  dog. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  I  inquired  coldly. 

"What  made  you  dash  out  of  the  house  and  tear 
along  as  though  you  intended  getting  to  Bagdad  and 
back  before  nightfall  ?  " 

"  How  did  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  was  standing  at  the  window." 

"You  must  have  good  eyesight,"  I  observed. 

"  Not  particularly.    I  had  a  field -glass." 

I  stopped  short  in  the  road. 

"  Is  it  your  custom  to  spy  upon  your  friends  ?  " 

He  looked  a  little  guilty. 

"Sometimes,  not  often,"  he  replied. 

"It  is  pleasing  for  us,  I  am  sure.  I  was  under  the 
impression  an  Englishman's  home  was  his  castle,  free 
from  the  curious  gaze  of  the  stranger,  the  vulgar  stare 
of  the  outsider.  Perhaps  you  will  turn  a  searchlight 
on  to  us  next." 

"Don't  be  disagreeable,"  he  said;  "this  is  Christ- 
mas Day,  and  you  should  be  at  peace  with  all  your 
fellow-men.  Why  did  you  rush  out  like  that?  Tell 
me.  Was  there  anything  wrong  ?  " 

"  I  was  sick  of  Angela  and  the  house." 
16  [ 241  ] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

The  words  slipped  out  unwittingly,  and  I  made  no 
attempt  to  recall  them. 

"Poor  child,"  said  he  gently. 

The  sympathy  in  his  voice  fell  as  balm  on  my  weary 
spirit,  and — suddenly  two  big  tears  welled  up  into  my 
eyes.  He  looked  away  from  me  at  once. 

"You  know  Angela  is  a  little  trying  at  times,"  I 
went  on.  "I  don't  think  she  means  to  be,  but  I — 

I "  my  voice  quavered,  then  broke,  and  I  was 

fairly  crying  like  a  baby.  Vainly  I  struggled  to  check 
the  tears  which  were  racing  down  my  cheeks  and 
splashing  on  to  my  muff,  but  they  would  not  be  checked. 
His  "  poor  child  "  had  opened  the  flood  gates,  and  the 
tears  chased  each  other  as  though  they  never  meant 
to  stop. 

"What  must  you  think  of  me?"  I  asked  at  length 
with  a  big  gulp.  "  I  never  cry — at  least  not  often.  I 
can't  think  what  is  the  matter  with  me.  You  shouldn't 
have  sympathized  with  me,  sympathy  is  a  fatal  thing. 
I  must  go  home.  I  can't  be  seen  like  this." 

"You're  all  right,"  he  said,  still  without  looking  at 
me.  "  Come  down  this  quiet  lane,  it  leads  to  the  shore, 
doesn't  it  ?  We  shan't  meet  a  soul  for  at  least  a  couple 
of  miles,  and  then  you  will  be  feeling  better." 

I  followed  him  unresistingly.  I  was  very  tired,  and 
he  seemed  so  big  and  strong,  the  very  size  of  his  pres- 
ence soothed  me.  We  walked  along  for  some  time  in 
silence  through  the  soft  snow,  his  head  always  turned 
Deeward  and  mine  Heatherland  way.  Gradually  the 

[242] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

tears  dried  up,  and  I  began  to  feel  better.  My  eyes 
smarted  wofully,  and  my  nose  felt  as  though  it  ought 
to  belong  to  Joey  Tomlinson,  but  my  heart  seemed  five 
or  six  pounds  lighter. 

"I  am  better  now,"  I  said,  "and  I  want  you  to  talk; 
but  don't  look  at  me  for  quite  half  an  hour,  please,  not 
till  the  wind  has  had  a  chance." 

"  All  right,"  he  replied,  "  but  couldn't  you  make  it  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  ?  Thirty  minutes  is  a  long  time." 

"No,"  I  said  firmly,  "you  would  have  a  dreadful 
shock." 

"I  like  shocks." 

"Not  this  kind.  I  know  I  resemble  a  spotted  red 
cabbage." 

"  I  never  saw  one.    May  I  look  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,  you  promised.    Now  will  you  talk  ?  " 

"  What  am  I  to  talk  about  ?    I  am  out  of  practice." 

"Of  anything,  of  anybody,  so  long  as  it  makes  me 
forget  myself.  You  don't  know  how  ashamed  I  feel. 
And  I  had  really  nothing  to  cry  about,  nothing  of  any 
importance — no  death,  or  disgrace,  or  ruin  staring  us 
in  the  face,  just  a  few  small  worries,  chiefly  of  my  own 
manufacture.  You  must  think  me  an  awful  baby." 

"No,  I  don't,"  he  answered,  and  I  wondered  how 
he  managed  to  get  his  gruff  voice  so  soft  and  gentle. 
*'I  think  you  are  jolly  plucky.  If  your  sister  were 
mine  I  should  bash  her  head  in." 

"Mr.  Inderwick,"  I  cried,  "I  would  like  to  shake 
hands  with  you.  I  have  no  right  to  allow  you  to  say 

[243] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

such  a  thing.  It  is  wrong  of  me,  wicked,  unsisterly, 
unfeeling,  unnatural.  I  ought  to  be  horrified,  but  I 
think  it's  the  grandest  thing  I  ever  heard  in  my  life. 
It's  what  I  have  been  wanting  some  one  to  say  for  over 
fifteen  years ;  it's  what  I  have  been  wanting  some  one 
to  do.  Probably  I  should  stop  your  bashing  in  her  head 
if  you  attempted  it,  my  feelings  as  a  sister  might  become 
too  strong  for  me,  but  I  should  know  you  had  the 
desire  to  do  so.  Someone  besides  myself  had  wanted 
to  bash  in  Angela's  head.  Thank  you  for  saying  those 
words.  Shake  hands,  I  shall  deem  it  an  honor." 

I  stopped  and  held  out  my  hand.  He  took  it  gravely 
into  his  big,  woolly  one,  and  then  appeared  to  forget 
to  let  go. 

"  May  I  look  now  ?    It  is  nearly  half  an  hour." 

"No,"  I  said  quickly,  and  he  straightway  looked, 
and  what  I  saw  in  his  face  caused  me  to  wrest  away  my 
hand  and  start  off  at  a  brisk  pace  down  the  road. 

He  strode  after  me.  "Wait  a  minute,"  he  called 
imperatively,  "  it's  got  to  be  said." 

"Not  to-day,"  I  cried,  my  heart  beating  violently. 
(There  was  no  use  pretending  I  did  not  know  his 
meaning,  it  was  too  obvious.)  "Not  to-day.  I'm  not 
— ready — and  we  are  having  such  a  jolly  time." 

"Are  we?  And  not  five  minutes  since  you  were 
crying  enough  to  break  your  heart.  And  I  had  to 
stand  there  like  a  stuck  pig,  and  could  do  nothing 
to  help  you,  absolutely  nothing,  and — I  could  hardly 
keep  my  hands  off  you.  God,  I  would  have  given  every- 

[244] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

thing  I  possess  to  have  been  able  to  comfort  you,  to 

help  you,  and "  then  his  voice  broke  suddenly. 

"  Hazel,  little  Hazel,  won't  you  let  me  take  care  of  you  ? 
I  would  take  such  good  care  of  you.  You  want  looking 
after,  you  are  such  an  excitable,  feverish — child  I  was 
going  to  say ;  you  are  a  child  one  moment  and  a  woman 
the  next,  the  one  woman  in  the  world  to  me.  And  I'm 
getting  an  old  fellow,  according  to  you,  though  I'm 
young  as  men  go,  and  I'm  gruff,  but " 

"Don't,  Mr.  Inderwick,"  I  interrupted,  "don't  say 
any  more."  I  was  walking  for  my  life  and  becoming 
breathless.  "  I  can't  listen  to  you." 

"But  you  shall,"  he  cried,  getting  in  front  of  me. 
"You've  got  to  listen,  it's  only  fair.  You've  got  to  sit 
down  on  this  stile  here  and  listen,  and  when  I  have  said 
my  say  you  shall  go." 

Meekly  I  sat  down.  His  hands  had  hurt,  and  there 
was  a  sternness  in  his  face  which  was  not  to  be  trifled 
with.  He  stood  beside  me,  partly  leaning  against  the 
stile,  his  face  turned  toward  the  hills  across  the  water. 

"  Well  ?  "  I  said  at  length  a  little  nervously. 

Then  the  muscles  of  his  face  relaxed,  and  he  turned 
to  me  with  one  of  his  rare,  whimsical  sort  of  smiles. 

"  Is  it  well  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Say  it  is  well,  Hazel.  I  do 
so  love  you.  It  is  impossible  to  make  you  understand 
how  I  love  you.  Will  you  be  my  wife  ?  Don't  answer 
in  a  hurry,  give  me  a  chance.  I  never  meant  to  speak 
for  weeks.  I  thought  somehow  you  were  not  ready. 
I  hoped  you  might  be  ready  if  I  gave  you  more  time; 

[245] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

but  your  crying — God,  every  tear  hurt  like  hell ! "  He 
came  closer  and  laid  his  hand  on  mine.  "Won't  you 
look  up,  Hazel,  and  say  that  one  day  you  will  marry 
me  ?  I  don't  ask  you  to  many  me  to-morrow — I  must 
give  you  time  to  get  used  to  the  idea — say  not  for  six 
months;  that's  a  deuce  of  a  time,  but  I  would  wait. 
I  would  wait  even  longer  than  that  if  only  you  will  say 
you  love  me  the  least  little  bit,  and  will  one  day  come 
and  live  with  me  at  the  Old  Hall  Farm." 

"I  can't,"  Mr.  Inderwick,  I  said.  "I  can't.  I'm 
awfully  sorry,  but  it's  impossible." 

"  Why  can't  you  ?  "  he  asked  sharply. 

"I  don't— love  you." 

"  Not  the  least  little  bit  ?  " 

"Not  the  least  little  bit,"  and  I  wondered  was  this 
the  truth. 

He  turned  away  and  was  silent  for  some  minutes. 

"Then  you  have  only  felt  like  a  friend  all  these 
weeks  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  whispered.    "  Haven't  you  ?  " 

"No,  I  haven't.  I  believe  I  have  loved  you  since 
the  day  I  saw  you  in  church,  certainly  since  the  moment 
when  you  smiled  at  me.  I  thought  that  smile  was  the 
most  delightful  of  any  that  had  ever  fallen  my  way, 
and  they  had  not  been  many  since — since  my  mother 
died.  I  thought " 

"  You  knew  me,  then  ?  "  I  broke  in. 

"  Yes,  I  knew  you." 

"And  you  didn't  smile  back,"  I  said  with  some 

[246] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

heat;  "you  deliberately  snubbed  me  and  put  me  to 
shame  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  congregation." 

"  Snub  you ! "  he  ejaculated.  "  Why,  my  breath  was 
taken  away.  I  had  been  staring  at  you  ever  since  you 
had  entered  the  church,  wondering  who  you  were — I 
did  not  recognize  you  till  afterward — thinking  that  as 
you  stood  there  in  that  frilly  white  thing  you  wore  and 
the  yellow  roses,  that — that — well,  that  you  were  the 
prettiest  girl  my  eyes  had  rested  on  for  many  a  long 
year.  I  was  wishing  I  could  see  your  full  face,  when 
suddenly  round  you  turned  and  flashed  that  smile  upon 
me,  fairly  dazzling  me,  knocking  me  all  of  a  heap,  and 
by  the  time  my  feeble  intelligence  had  grasped  that  it 
was  really  intended  for  me,  you  had  turned  away  in  a 
horrid  temper — a  most  unchristian  temper." 

"  I  admit  I  was  cross,"  I  said,  laughing. 

"  Yes,  and  you  were  not  only  cross  when  you  sat  on 
the  gate  that  afternoon,  but  abominably  rude  and 
unkind.  I  think  I  was  very  patient  and  forgiving  to 
ever  speak  to  you  again  after  the  disagreeable  speeches 
you  flung  at  me;  but  I  couldn't  help  it,  for  the  next 
time  I  saw  you  you  were  ducking  for  apples  in  a  tub. 
I  wonder  if  you  knew  how  you  looked  as  you  emerged 
from  its  depths  with  your  eyes  shining  and  the  h'ttle 
drops  of  water  sparkling  on  your  dark,  fluffy  hair. 
And  later  on  you  were  seedy  and  faint.  Do  you  re- 
member? You  were  quite  nice  and  gentle,  and  not 
independent  and  prickly  as  a  thorn-bush,  and  you 
leaned  on  me  and  let  me  take  care  of  you.  I  knew  then 

[247] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

I  was  beginning  to  love  you.  A  something  came  over 
me  as  you  groped  your  way  through  the  hall — at  each 
step  leaning  more  heavily  upon  me — a  longing  to 
always  take  care  of  you  thus.  Hazel " — he  came  closer 
to  me  but  did  not  touch  me — "  Hazel,  won't  you  give 
me  the  right  to  look  after  you  again — now  and  always  ? 
I  would  take  such  good  care  of  you,  I  would  be  so 
gentle;  you  think  me  rough,  I  know,  but  I  could  be 
gentle.  Are  you  quite  sure  you  don't  love  me  a  little, 
just  a  trifling  bit  ?  You  don't  seem  to  dislike  being  with 
me.  We  were  friends  in  the  old  days,  and  these  last  few 
months  we  have  not  had  bad  times  together,  have  we  ?  " 

He  looked  long  and  searchingly  into  my  face,  and 
oh,  how  I  wished  he  wouldn't!  When  he  talked  so  I 
felt  I  must  say  "  Yes,"  and  yet  did  I  love  him  ?  It  is 
so  difficult,  so  dreadfully  difficult  for  a  woman  to 
know.  So  difficult  to  distinguish  between  interest, 
good  comradeship,  a  desire  to  be  liked  and  admired  by 
a  man,  a  desire  to  be  in  the  society  of  a  man — and  love. 

"Don't  look  at  me  like  that,"  I  whispered,  when  I 
could  bear  his  scrutiny  no  longer.  "  I  can't  talk  to  you 
if  you  do,  and  I  want  to — to  thrash  things  out,  to  ex- 
plain. I  don't  want  to  appear  to  have  been  unfair.  It 
is  quite  true,  I  do  like  being  with  you  tremendously. 
No  one  knows  how  much  I  have  enjoyed  our  walks  and 
talks.  You  are  so  unexpected  and — and  rude,  so  dif- 
ferent from  Frederick  Moss  and  the  few  other  men  I  have 
known.  I  was  so  delighted  when  I  heard  you  had  come 
to  the  Old  Hall  Farm.  When  I  went  for  walks  I  hoped 

[243] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

always  that  I  should  meet  you.  I  looked  for  your 
coming,  I  was  low  at  the  thought  of  your  being  away  at 
Christmas.  You  see  how  honest  I  am,  but — that  does 
not  follow  I  love  you  or  want  to  be  with  you  always, 
does  it  ?  Have  you  ever  thought,  Mr.  Inderwick,  what 
it  must  be  always  to  live  with  a  person  ?  " 

"Often,"  he  replied  vehemently;  "I  have  thought  of 
little  else  for  the  last  four  months.  It  has  been  with  me 
sleeping  and  waking.  I  have  seen  you  curled  up  in  the 
big  armchair  in  my  den  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
hearth  to  me — you  with  your  book,  I  with  mine.  I 
have  imagined  that  something  amused  you,  took  your 
fancy,  and  you  wanted  to  read  it  to  me;  and  that,  for 
my  better  hearing,  as  I  am  getting  "so  old,"  I  have 
made  you  cross  the  hearth  and  come  closer  to  me,  very 
close,  and  we  have  read  and  laughed  over  the  passage 
together.  I  have  pictured  you  in  the  high-backed  oak 
chair  at  the  other  end  of  the  table  at  breakfast,  throw- 
ing impertinent  speeches  at  me  from  behind  the  coffee- 
pot, discussing  the  affairs  of  the  nation  in  your  cus- 
tomary illogical  way.  I've  heard  your  high-heeled 
slippers  tap,  tapping  across  the  stone  hall,  and  your 
skirts  swishing  up  and  down  the  staircase  as  you 
busied  yourself  about  your  household  affairs — Parian 
jugs  and  bronze  horses,  for  instance ! " 

He  paused  and  smiled  banteringly  at  me. 

"  Go  on,"  I  commanded. 

"I've  seen  you  lazing  in  the  orchard  on  summer 

afternoons  in  that  pretty  white  frock  of  yours " 

[249] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

"  It  would  be  worn  out,"  I  interrupted. 

"I  should  instantly  get  you  another,"  he  made 
answer.  "  We  would  go  together  to  Liverpool  to  buy 
it  and  a  big  shady  sun  hat.  I  picture  you  more  than 
any  other  way  in  that  sun  hat.  We  are  on  the  shore 
together  poking  about  for  eels  as  we  did  years  ago;  we 
are  in  hayfields;  we  are  having  tea  in  the  garden;  we 
are  strolling  through  the  lanes  on  summer  nights,  but 
you  are  always  in  that  hat." 

"It  would  get  very  shabby,"  I  suggested. 

He  did  not  answer,  he  did  not  appear  to  hear  me; 
his  eyes  were  on  the  hills. 

"Yes,  you  are  always  with  me  in  thought,"  he 
continued.  "Where  you  are  and  what  you  are  doing 
I  am  and  I  am  doing;  and  now " 

He  ceased  abruptly. 

"You  are  imaginative  and  romantic,"  I  remarked 
flippantly.  I  did  not  feel  flippant;  I  felt  if  he  said 
another  word  I  should  again  burst  into  tears. 

"No"  (his  voice  was  very  quiet),  "I  don't  think  so. 
I  am  not  young  enough  to  be  romantic.  It  is  all  quite 
natural.  When  you  love  a  person  deeply  you  want  to 
have  that  person  with  you,  that  is  all.  It  is  not  ro- 
mance, it  is  common  sense.  I  care  for  you  more  than 
I  thought  it  was  possible  to  care  for  any  one.  Six  months 
ago  I  should  have  said  it  was  quite  impossible.  I  have 
never  been  a  lover  of  mankind  generally.  I  am  not 
gregarious ;  I  have  lived  much  alone,  and  never  seemed 
to  feel  my  loneliness  till  lately.  Now  I  am  very  lonely." 

[250] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

"  So  you  want  me  because  you  are  dull  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  only  dull  because  I  want  you." 

We  sat  in  silence  for  some  time.  A  peewit  hovered 
and  circled  and  cried  mournfully  above  the  snowy 
fields;  the  afternoon  was  waning,  and  I  shivered.  He 
noticed  it,  and  laid  his  big  gloved  hand  very  gently  on 
mine. 

"  Well,  little  Hazel,  have  you  nothing  to  say  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Not  one  kind  word?  You  can't  find  one  small 
corner  in  your  heart  for  me  ?  " 

"You  would  want  a  very  large  one,  I  think,"  I 
answered  tremulously. 

"No,  I  would  be  content  with  quite  a  minute  place 
at  first.  I'm  not  greedy;  at  least,  not  very.  Do  you 
mind  answering  me  a  question — truthfully — then  you 
shall  go?" 

"  I'll  try,  but  don't  make  it  very  difficult." 

"Why  don't  you  love  me,  or  why  do  you  think  you 
don't  love  me  ?  That  is  not  very  difficult,  is  it  ?  I  quite 
realize  I  am  not  attractive,  and  that  there  is  no  special 
reason  why  a  girl  should  fancy  me ;  but  I  would  like  to 
know  why  you  in  particular  don't  care  about  me." 

He  looked  at  me  gravely. 

"That  is  an  exceedingly  difficult  question,"  I  said. 
"I  don't  think  I  can  answer  it." 

"  A  case  of  Dr.  Fell  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No ;  for  I  do  like  you  very,  very  much,  as  I  said 
before." 

[251] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

"Well,  try  to  think  of  anything  you  may  have 
against  me.  Imagine  that  I  am  not  asking  you  to 
marry  me;  look  upon  me  as  your  brother." 

"That  would  be  delightful,"  I  said,  smiling.  "If 
you  were  my  brother  I  should  have  heaps  of  fault  to 
find  with  you." 

"  Out  with  them,  I'm  all  attention." 

"Well,  first,  you  are  so  untidy  and  careless  about 
your  appearance.  It  is  shocking.  Your  tie,  now,  for 
instance." 

"What's  the  matter  with  it?"  he  inquired  wonder- 
ingly,  putting  his  hand  to  his  neck. 

"All  its  woollen  inside  is  coming  out.  You  have 
worn  it  for  three  months  on  end,  and  it's  very  ugly. 
Blue  doesn't  suit  you;  you  should  wear  green." 

"  Should  I  ?  Well,  that's  quite  easy.  I  will  order  a 
dozen  green  ties  to-morrow.  Why  didn't  you  say  so 
before?" 

"It's  nothing  to  do  with  me,"  I  said  distantly. 

"Perhaps  not,  but  it  would  have  been  kind  of  you. 
Anything  else  ?  " 

"Your  boots " 

.     "What's  wrong  with  them?     They  are  a  splendid 
pair,"  he  said,  glancing  down. 

"  Look  at  the  laces,"  I  commanded. 

He  looked,  and  became  thoughtful. 

"But  you  don't  mean  to  say  a  girl  would  refuse  a 
man  because  of  his  boot-laces?"  he  asked  indig- 
nantly. 

[252] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

"  Some  girls  might.  Women  are  very  easily  affected 
by  small  external  matters,"  I  said  lightly. 

"They  are  not  worth  having,  then;  men  are  better 
without  them." 

His  voice  was  hard,  and  I  suddenly  felt  very  small. 

"  Of  course  I  was  joking,"  I  murmured. 

'"I  don't  think  you  were  altogether.  But  you  are 
quite  right;  I  believe  a  very  small  thing  would  turn 
the  scale  of  a  woman's  love  if — she  were  in  doubt. 
You  don't  love  me,  that  is  evident.  I  don't  reproach 
you.  I  only  wish  you  could.  I  am  sorry.  I  shall 
probably  go  on  caring  about  you  always;  that  is  the 
trouble  with  a  man  when  he  begins  to  care  after  thirty, 
but  it  can't  be  helped.  I  shall  worry  through  some- 
how." 

He  rose  and  offered  me  his  hand  to  help  me  down. 

"You  are  cold,"  he  said  more  gently.  "We  will 
walk  quickly." 

Not  a  word  passed  till  we  reached  the  front  gate  of 
Shady  Oak. 

"Good-by,"  he  then  said,  as  he  held  my  hand  for 
a  minute.  "  Good-by,  little  Hazel." 

"It  won't  be  good-by;  you  mean  good-night?  I 
shall  see  you  again  ?  "  I  asked. 

"No,  I  shan't  see  you  again  if — I  can  help  it.  I 
could  not  bear  it.  Good-by." 

"  But  why  not  ?    Couldn't  we  be  friends  ?  "  I  insisted. 

"No,"  he  answered  sternly,  "we  couldn't.  You 
might,  but  not  I.  That  is  where  women  are  so  dull  of 

[253] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

comprehension.  Excuse  me,  I  am  not  speaking  per- 
sonally, but  of  women  as  a  class.  They  appear  to 
think  they  can  go  to  any  lengths  with  a  man  who  is  in 
love  with  them — if  they  have  once  rejected  him.  They 
offer  to  be  friend,  sister,  step-mother,  grandmother, 
anything  in  fact  but  wife;  and  men  are  mostly  fools 
enough  to  accept  such  offers,  hoping  for  more  to  follow, 
but  I — forgive  me,  Hazel,  I  am  rough.  You  meant  it 
kindly,  but  it's  impossible,  I  love  you  too  much." 

Then  he  left  me,  and  the  world  seemed  suddenly  cold 
and  empty. 


[254] 


I  Desire  to  be  a  Lotus-Eater,  and  Sammy  Brings  me 
Rudely  to  Earth 

"In  the  afternoon  they  came  unto  a  land 
In  which  it  seemed  always  afternoon." 

I  WANT  to  come  to  such  a  land.  I  want  to  be  a 
lotus-eater.  I  want  it  to  be  always  afternoon. 
A  curious  dulness  and  slackness  seem  to  have  over- 
come me.  I  feel  like  that  toad  who,  after  being  em- 
bedded in  rock  for  thousands  of  years,  on  being  rudely 
ejected,  simply  sat  down  on  its  haunches  and  blinked. 
I  want  to  sit  down  on  my  haunches  and  blink  in  a  sunny 
spot  under  a  sunny  wall.  I  might  muster  up  sufficient 
energy  to  fold  my  hands  on  my  lap  as  looking  more 
elegant,  but  afterward  I  should  want  to  sit  absolutely 
still  and  just  let  the  sunshine  filter  through  my  tired 
being. 

An  hour  ago  I  expressed  such  a  wish  to  mother 
and  Angela.  They  were  sitting  turning  sides  of  sheets 
to  middle.  I  feared  a  desire  that  I  should  assist  at  this 
pleasant  work  might  overcome  them,  and  forestalled  it 
by  trying  to  make  them  understand  that  I  felt  like  a 

[255] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

thousand-year-old  toad  and  had  leanings  toward  being 
a  lotus-eater. 

Angela  was  not  sympathetic;  she  simply  handed 
me  a  sheet  and  said  lotus-eaters  were  very  well  in  their 
way,  but  they  invariably  sent  up  the  poor  rates  a  penny 
in  the  pound.  I  admitted  there  might  be  some  truth  in 
her  statement,  but  did  she  not  think  such  people  were 
rather  soothing  at  times,  rather  restful  to  come  across 
after  the  bustle  of  the  world  ? 

She  replied  they  never  rested  her;  she  was  only 
sorry  for  their  relations,  who  in  later  years  would  be 
bound  to  keep  them,  because  they — the  lotus-eaters — 
indulged  in  a  picturesque  horror  of  the  workhouse. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  with  the  sheet  ?  "  I  asked  in  van- 
quished tones.  "Dusters,  and  bandages  for  Betty 
Totty's  bad  leg,  or  sides  to  middle  ?  " 

"Sides  to  middle,  and  use  fifty  cotton;  the  last  you 
did  scrubbed,"  she  said  with  such  conviction  in  her 
voice  that  I  believed  her  and  was  glad. 

I  crawled  under  the  sofa  for  mother's  "Church 
Times"  footstool.  On  it  I  placed  my  feet  to  make  a 
firm,  unslopy  knee  for  my  sheet,  and  resignedly  I 
started  on  that  long  seam  without  a  turning,  and  tried 
not  to  think  of — of — many  things.  I  must  have  been 
sewing  for  ten  minutes  before  mother  discovered  with 
horror  that  I  was  seaming  with  black  cotton. 

"  I  told  you  I  felt  like  a  very,  very  old  toad,"  I  said. 

They  regarded  me  with  widely-dilated  pupils  for  the 
space  of  sixty  seconds.  Appealingly  I  returned  mother's 

[256] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

look.  I  fetched  my  whole  soul  into  my  eyes.  I  tried  to 
look  as  Dibbs  looks  when  he  wants  a  bit  of  meat  from 
my  plate.  I  wagged  my  tail  insinuatingly,  and  mother 
relented. 

"Put  it  away,"  she  said  gently.  "You  look  tired. 
What  is  the  matter?" 

"  Nothing,"  I  quavered. 

"  Really  ?  "  she  questioned. 

"Really,  motherkins,"  I  replied  untruthfully,  stoop- 
ing to  kiss  her.  She  held  my  face  for  a  moment.  I 
could  feel  the  little  rough,  worn  finger  of  her  left  hand 
which  has  sewn  so  much  and  received  so  many  pricks 
in  its  life,  and  I  turned  and  kissed  it. 

"There  is  something  wrong  with  you,  Hazel,  your 
face  is  quite  thin,"  she  insisted. 

"Mother,  you  are  imaginative.  I  am  always  well," 
I  answered,  stroking  the  finger.  "  I  am  only  lazy  and 
—dull." 

"  There  will  be  the  concert  at  the  schools  next  week, 
and  two  humorous  recitations  in  addition  to  the  tragic 
one  Frederick  Moss  is  giving."  She  spoke  buoyantly, 
and  I  kissed  her  again. 

"  So  there  will,  mother  mine.  It  will  be  great  fun," 
I  replied  with  equal  cheerfulness,  and  then  I  slipped 
away  into  the  garden. 

The  snow  had  gone ;  the  air  was  soft,  almost  balmy, 

and  there  was  that  strange,  premature  touch  of  spring 

in  it  which  so  frequently  follows  snow,  just  as  though 

the  earth  had  been  warmed  and  caressed  by  the  soft 

17 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

white  mantle,  and  was  stirring  in  its  sleep.  As  I  felt 
its  breath  on  my  cheek  my  heart  gave  a  little  jumpy 
thrill.  It  always  does  when  spring  is  in  the  air,  my 
pulses  quicken  and  a  happiness — quite  a  different  kind 
of  happiness  from  any  other — rushes  through  me.  But 
this  was  only  January  1st;  it  was  ridiculous  to  think  of 
spring.  There  were  all  the  rains  of  fill-dyke  February, 
and  the  biting  winds  of  March  to  be  got  through  first. 
Many  weeks  must  pass  before  I  could  be  out  of  doors 
— really  out  of  doors.  How  should  I  get  through  them  ? 
Each  week  stretched  away  into  another  age.  I  saw 
myself  an  old,  gray,  toothless  woman  by  the  time  sweet, 
smiling,  rosy  May  was  with  us. 

I  sat  down  on  the  garden-roller  under  the  privet 
hedge,  and  thought  again  of  that  land  in  which  it 
seemed  always  afternoon. 

"Here  are  cool  mosses  deep, 

And  thro'  the  moss  the  ivies  creep, 
And  in  the  stream  the  long-leaved  flowers  weep, 
And  from  the  craggy  ledge  the  poppy  hangs  in  sleep." 

'*  The  poppy  hangs  in  sleep ! "  As  the  lotus-eaters  said, 
"  All  things  have  rest :  why  should  we  toil  alone  ?  We 
only  toil,  who  are  the  first  of  things."  I  turned  and 
gathered  a  little  folded  privet-leaf.  It  had  nothing  to 
do  but  "grow  green  and  broad.  .  .  .  Sun-steep'd  at 
noon,  and  in  the  moon  nightly  dew-fed;  and  turning 
yellow,  falls  and  floats  adown  the  air."  It  would  never 
be  dull  or  tired  or  depressed.  It  lay  on  the  palm  of  my 
hand,  a  little  green  thing  fast  asleep. 

[258] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

Sammy  broke  in  upon  my  reflections. 

"Would  you  like  a  russet  apple,  Miss  Hazelt?" 

I  told  him  "No." 

"  A  Ribston  pippin  ?  " 

"No,  thank  you,  Sammy,"  I  replied. 

"Aren't  you  well,  Miss  Hazelt?" 

People  of  a  sudden  seemed  extraordinarily  inter- 
ested in  the  state  of  my  health. 

"  Perfectly,  thanks.    Why  ?  " 

"  Never  knew  you  to  refuse  a  Ribston  pippin  before, 
Miss  Hazelt." 

I  smiled.  " Well,  I  don't  mind  one"  I  said  gra- 
ciously as  I  got  off  the  roller. 

He  led  the  way  to  the  apple-room,  and  a  warm  fruity 
smell  greeted  us  as  he  unlocked  the  door.  I  sat  down 
on  a  wooden  box  and  watched  him  as  he  slowly  passed 
from  one  shelf  to  another.  His  movements,  unhurried 
and  deliberate,  invariably  remind  me  of  a  bishop  in  a 
cathedral.  Were  all  gardeners  born  slow  ?  Was  Adam 
leisurely?  Did  he  water  the  little  thirsty  summer 
flowers  as  though  performing  the  sacrament  of  bap- 
tism— gently  and  deliberately,  with  can  raised  aloft — 
while  Eve  bustled  round  and  hoed  the  potato-bed  and 
brushed  up  the  leaves  ?  The  only  occasion  upon  which 
Sammy  has  ever  been  known  to  get  up  any  degree  of 
speed  is  when  our  two  fowls,  Bandy-legs  and  Yellow 
Tuft,  stray  away  into  Sandy  Lane  in  search  of  ad- 
venture; then  with  hurried  gait  and  waving  arms  he 
"  shoos  "  them  home. 

[259] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

As  I  munched  my  apple  I  reflected  that  he  would 
make  a  good  lotus-eater,  and  suggested  how  pleasant 
it  would  be  to  go  away  together  to  some  little  sun- 
kissed,  wave-washed  island  in  the  Pacific,  and  do  noth- 
ing till  we  died. 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  it,  Sammy — 

"With  half-shut  eyes  ever  to  seem 
Falling  asleep  in  a  half  dream?" 

I  murmured. 

He  sat  down  on  the  inverted  box  of  the  mowing- 
machine. 

"I  don't  think  I  understand  you  rightly,  Miss 
Hazelt." 

"Well,  Sammy,  you  eat  a  plant;  then  you  just  lie 
down  in  the  languid,  swooning  air  upon  the  yellow 
sand,  and  everything  seems  to  go  away  from  you,  your 
own  voice  sounds  far-away  and  thin,  you  feel — well, 
you  feel  as  you  do  when  you  first  begin  to  inhale  gas, 
only  much  nicer;  and  there  you  lie,  dozing  and  dream- 
ing, and  sweet  music  falls  upon  your  ears- 

"  Music  that  gentlier  on  the  spirit  lies 
Than  tir'd  eyelids  upon  tir'd  eyes." 

And  you  stay  on  in  this  little  island — a '  land  of  streams  * 
— dozing  and  dreaming,  dozing  and  dreaming  till  you 
die." 

His  answer  was  irrelevant,  and  brought  me  to  my 
feet  with  a  bound. 

[260] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

"  I'm  thinkin'  you  be  wantin'  to  mate,  Miss  Hazelt ! " 

"Sammy!"  I  shouted. 

"Yes,  I  do.  All  young  things  does;  it's  human 
natur'.  You've  all  the  symptims.  You  be  lookin' 
pale  and  peaky-loike." 

His  voice  was  dogged. 

"  Sammy,  how  dare  you  say  such  things !  It's  untrue, 
you  know  it's  untrue ! " 

I  went  closer  and  glowered  upon  him,  and  he  backed 
away  from  me. 

"Beggin'  your  parding,  Miss  Hazelt,  but  it's  the 
truth  as  I'm  a-sayin'  and  I'm  sorry  to  contradict  you, 
but  the  symptims — they  never  decaive  auld  Sammy. 
Some  gets  'em  one  way,  some  another.  Yours  is  extry 
bad — wantin'  to  take  gas  and  sittin'  about  yaller  sands 
till  you  dies,  catchin'  the  rheumatics,  catchin' " 

"Sammy" — I  hardly  recognized  my  own  voice — 
"I  must  leave  you.  You  completely  forget  yourself. 
I  am  surprised  and  sorry.  I  never  thought  you  could 
have  spoken  so  to  me.  Besides,  I  was  under  the  im- 
pression you  were  truthful.  I  thought " 

"  And  it  is  the  truth,  God's  gospil  truth,  Miss  Hazelt, 
askin'  your  pardin,  and  real  sorry  I  am  for  offendin* 
you,  which  shows  it's  the  truth,  or  you  wouldn't  be  so 
moidered  about  it.  People's  only  moidered  about 
things  which  people  says  about  'em  when  they's  true. 
There's  summat  the  matter  wid  you,  Sammy  knows 
every  look  of  your  purty  face.  You're  not  yourself. 
You  never  laughs  now  as  you  did.  You're  dull-loike, 

[261] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

and  now  you  wants  to  go  and  live  on  an  island  in  the 
Pacific  Ocean  and  listen  to  music,  and  not  ten  minutes 
since  you  was  sittin'  on  the  roller  talking  to  a  leaf  off 
the  privit  hedge — I  heard  you." 

I  laughed ;  though  I  struggled  against  it,  his  evidence 
of  the  state  of  mind  I  was  supposed  to  be  in  was  so 
conclusive  and  overwhelming. 

"  You  shouldn't  have  been  listening.  It  is  low  down 
to  eavesdrop;  I  am  surprised  at  you.  I  had  formed  a 
better  estimate  of  your  character,  Sammy." 

"  I  wasn't  listenin',  Miss  Hazelt.    I  just  heard  you." 

His  voice  was  imperturbable. 

"I  see,  and — as  we  are  on  the  subject,  though  you 
must  never  refer  to  it  again — how  long  is  it  since  you 
made  this  startling  discovery  about  me?  How  long 
have  I  been  wanting  to — to  get  married  ?  " 

I  endeavored  to  get  the  entire  Arctic  regions  into  my 
voice  and  attitude,  but  it  was  thrown  away  upon  our 
gardener,  who  settled  himself  in  a  comfortable  attitude 
in  readiness  for  a  long  and  interesting  conversation. 

"I  can't  say  exactly,  Miss  Hazelt;  it's  been  comin* 
on  slowly.  Some  thinks  since  about  September,  and 
others— 

"  Some  think ! "  I  yelled.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  Do 
you  dare  to  discuss  me  with  the  villagers?  Do  you 
dare " 

"Gently,  gently,  Miss  Hazelt,"  Sammy  broke  in. 
"Don't  fly  out  like  that;  sit  yer  down.  Don't,  now, 
you'll  hurt  yourself.  Here's  another  Ribston,  the  best 

[262] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

on  the  shelf.  Now  sit  down;  don't  let  yourself  get 
excited.  I  never  discusses  you  wid  no  one.  It's  not  my 
place  or  duty " 

"  Well,  what  do  you  mean  ?  Out  with  it!  Be  quick! 
Who  was  it  ?  Was  it  Miss  Swiftly  ? "  I  fumed. 

"  Yes — p'r'aps  she  was  one,  and  there  was " 

"Sammy,"  I  said,  becoming  suddenly  calm,  "I  don't 
want  to  hear  any  more ;  I  don't  want  to  hear  the  others. 
Their  names  don't  interest  me.  They  are  only  com- 
mon, vulgar,  uneducated  gossipers ;  such  people  cannot 
possibly  interest  me.  You  can  see  that,  my  position  is 
so  different.  I  am  sorry  I  was  angry.  I  cannot  imagine 
how  I  could  have  been  affected  by  what  you  said.  It 
was  so  silly  and  untrue.  But  let  me  give  you  a  word  of 
advice — don't  always  say  what  you  think;  it  is  unwise, 
very  unwise." 

Then  I  stalked  out  of  the  room,  and  left  Sammy  with 
a  hanging  jaw. 

When  I  got  among  the  peaceful  cabbages  I  offered 
up  a  little  prayer  of  thanksgiving  for  having  been  led 
to  refuse  Mr.  Inderwick's  offer  of  marriage.  The  vil- 
lagers should  see.  "Wanting  to  mate!"  I  put  my 
fingers  in  my  ears  and  closed  my  eyes  and  stamped. 
How  dare  they ! 

I  have  written  to  Aunt  Menelophe.  She  said,  "If 
ever  you  are  in  trouble,  bring  it  to  me,  ^nd  we  will  see 
what  can  be  done  with  it."  I  am  not  in  trouble,  but  I 

[263] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

want  a  change;  also  I  am  anxious  to  give  Robert 
Inderwick  a  chance  of  taking  his  walks  abroad  in 
peace.  Up  to  the  present,  since — since  that  afternoon, 
each  time  I  have  met  him  he  has  bolted  away  in  an- 
other direction,  as  though  I  were  afflicted  with  the 
plague.  This  seems  so  unnecessary,  and  must  be 
extremely  tiresome  for  him.  So  I  will  go. 


[264] 


CHAPTER  XX 

/  Start  on  a  Second  Visit  to  Aunt  Menelophe,  and  Rob- 
ert Inderwick  Sees  me  off 

AUNT    MENELOPHE  said    "Come,"    and    I 
came.     She  wrote  such  a  delightful  letter.    I 
did  not  show  it  to  mother  and  Angela,  there 
were  reasons  for  not  so  doing;    Aunt  Menelophe  is 
almost  painfully  cute  at  times.     But  I  read  them  se- 
lected bits. 

My  sister  remarked  that  she  appeared  to  have  taken 
a  strange  and  unaccountable  fancy  to  me,  and  fell  to 
musing  upon  it.  Mother  was  more  practical.  She 
brought  forth  her  account  book  and  seven  purses  and 
boxes  to  see  if  by  any  manner  of  means  she  could  pos- 
sibly afford  to  spare  the  money  for  another  visit. 

"  It  is  not  just  the  railway  fare,"  she  said  in  depressed 
accents,  "there  are  the  servants  to  be  tipped,  and  you 
will  require  one  new  dress  at  least." 

"James  shall  not  have  a  tip,"  I  said,  "I  don't  like 
him,  he  is  familiar;  and  a  shilling  each  to  the  parlor 
and  housemaids  will  be  ample." 

"No,  it  won't,"  said  mother,  "I  should  not  like 
John  Wycherley's  daughter  to  be  considered  mean." 
[266] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

I  remarked  that  they  could  not  have  known  father, 
as  they  had  been  in  Aunt  Menelophe's  service  only  a 
short  time;  but  mother  told  me  not  to  argue,  as  it  was 
a  bad  habit. 

I  left  home  feeling  dull  and  depressed.  The  morning 
was  raw  and  bitter,  with  the  wind  in  the  east — the 
special  brand  of  wind  which  is  conducive  to  headache. 

"  We  shall  be  dull  without  you ;  don't  be  long  away. 
I  can't  imagine  why  your  Aunt  Menelophe  has  invited 
you  again  so  soon,"  said  mother;  "it  would  have  been 
much  pleasanter  in  the  summer." 

I  kissed  her  good-by  without  replying,  and  then 
clambered  into  the  'bus. 

Providence  kindly  and  tactfully  arranged  that 
Robert  Inderwick  should  travel  that  morning  to  Birk- 
enhead  by  the  same  'bus. 

I  distinguished  his  large,  great-coated  figure  at  the 
end  of  the  Old  Hall  Road  long  before  Jerry  saw  him, 
and  my  heart  jumped  into  my  mouth;  it  needn't  have 
done  so,  it  was  a  wasted  activity,  for  on  recognizing  me 
as  he  was  about  to  step  inside  the  'bus  he  merely  bowed 
gravely  and  went  outside.  Now  only  a  stupid  man 
would  do  a  thing  like  that.  A  woman  would  have  more 
sense  than  to  go  and  sit  shivering  in  the  raw  air  for  an 
hour  and  a  half  on  a  bitter  morning  in  January. 

And  yet  he  did  not  sound  cold,  I  must  confess.  I 
could  hear  him  chatting  pleasantly  with  Jerry,  and 
he  was  smoking,  I  knew,  from  the  frequent  striking  of 
matches.  Every  now  and  again  he  would  smooth  the 

[266] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

bowl  of  his  pipe  with  his  hand,  and  when  it  was  empty 
stroke  it  against  his  cheek.  He  would  be  admiring  its 
color  unconsciously,  and  when  he  had  finished  admir- 
ing it  he  would  smell  it  lovingly.  I  had  seen  him  do  it 
a  dozen  times  or  more. 

I  was  very  dull.  My  sole  companion  was  Peggy 
Shone,  who  has  asthma  and  wheezes  and  takes  snuff, 
and  she  would  keep  asking  me  how  my  ma  was.  After 
assuring  her  for  the  seventh  time  that  my  parent's 
health  was  exceptionally  good  I  turned  my  back  on  her, 
and  huddling  myself  into  a  corner,  drew  up  the  straw 
round  my  cold  legs  and  feet.  For  the  hundredth  time 
I  wished  devoutly  that  the  man  outside  had  not  asked 
me  to  marry  him — at  present.  It  had  spoiled  every- 
thing— our  fun,  our  walks,  our  talks — and  left  my  life 
as  dull  as  a  graveyard.  But  for  that  proposition  he 
would  have  been  sitting  beside  me,  inside  the  'bus. 
Why  could  he  not  have  withheld  it — for  at  least  another 
six  months?  Then  I  should  have  known  him  better, 
and — and  would  have  been  more  than  ever  convinced 
that  I  had  done  the  right  thing  in  refusing  him. 

He  had  implied  that  he  should  be  wretched,  that 
he  should  never  stop  caring,  that  he  might  worry 
through  somehow,  but — and  so  on;  and  there  he  was 
talking  and  laughing  most  cheerfully  with  Jerry,  while 
I  sat,  cold  and  wretched,  listening  to  the  wheezing  of 
Peggy  Shone. 

I  squeezed  out  a  tear;  but  on  reflecting  that  there 
was  no  one  there  to  see  it  I  wiped  it  away,  as  it  smarted 
in  the  nipping  atmosphere. 

[267] 


On  arriving  at  Woodside  I  scrambled  out  as  quickly 
as  my  benumbed  feet  would  admit,  and  ran  into  the 
station  in  search  of  an  outside  porter,  for  whom  we 
have  been  searching  for  years  without  any  success. 
Jerry  had  dumped  my  trunk  down  on  to  the  pavement. 
It  would  be  too  cumbersome  for  a  stray  thief  to  pick  up 
and  bear  away,  but  my  portmanteau  and  hatbox  would 
fall  an  easy  prey,  so  I  was  obliged  to  lug  them  along 
with  me.  An  evil  wind  waltzed  up  the  landing-stage 
from  the  river  and,  turning  into  the  station,  attempted 
to  grab  my  hat.  I  resisted.  It  was  the  pink  one:  I 
had  donned  it  for  the  sole  purpose  of  teasing  Aunt 
Menelophe;  I  had  sacrificed  my  appearance  in  antici- 
pation of  the  real  pleasure  I  should  derive  from  her 
countenance  when  her  eyes  fell  upon  me.  It  should  not 
be  wrested  from  me  by  any  wind.  With  two  fingers  of 
the  hand  which  held  the  hatbox  I  managed  to  seize  it, 
and  promptly  the  string  of  the  box  snapped  in  twain. 
As  it  fell  it  was  dexterously  caught  by  a  hand  which 
unexpectedly  shot  out  from  behind  me. 

"  You  seem  to  be  in  difficulties.    May  I  assist  you  ?  " 

The  offer  came  in  a  calm,  unruffled  voice,  from  Mr. 
Inderwick,  while  the  portmanteau  was  drawn  gently 
but  firmly  out  of  my  hand. 

"No,  thank  you,"  I  said.  "A  porter  will  carry 
them." 

"He  might  if  there  were  one,  but  he  does  not  seem 
to  exist;  in  the  mean  time  I  will,  if  you  will  permit  ?" 

"  But  my  trunk !    It  is  outside." 
[268] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

"  No,  it  is  on  its  way  to  your  train." 

"  To  my  train  ?  "  I  echoed. 

"Yes.  The  pavement  of  a  busy  thoroughfare 
seemed  an  unsuitable  place  for  it,  so  I  gave  a  poor 
out-of-work  wretch  sixpence  to  transfer  it  to  the 
luggage-van." 

I  handed  him  the  sixpence.    Gravely  he  took  it. 

"  How  did  you  know  where  it  was  going  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"It  was  on  the  label,  of  course." 

"Oh,  of  course!  "I  said. 

"  Don't  you  think  it  would  be  as  well  to  tie  up  this 
box  again  ?  "  he  next  suggested  evenly.  "  It  is  difficult 
to  carry  like  this." 

He  was  hugging  it  under  his  arm. 

"Give  it  to  me,"  I  demanded. 

"No,"  he  replied;  "I  don't  mind  carrying  it.  I 
merely  suggested  it  would  be  safer  with  a  string  in  case 
the  hat  should  fall  out." 

"  I  haven't  any  string,"  I  said  feebly. 

"  I  have.  We  will  sit  down  here  for  a  moment.  What 
time  does  your  train  go  ?  " 

"  Not  for  half  an  hour." 

I  watched  him  as  with  deft  fingers,  considering  the 
size  of  his  hands,  he  made  up  the  box. 

"  I  think  that  is  firm,"  he  said  at  length. 

"  Thank  you  very  much.  Cardboard  boxes  are  tire- 
some, slippery  things, .and  don't  look  well." 

"No,"  he  replied,  "they  don't.  Why  don't  you 
have  a  leather  one  with  a  strap  ?  " 

[269] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

"  Why  don't  I  have  a  lot  of  other  things  ?  "  I  answered 
him  crossly. 

He  turned  and  looked  at  me. 

"You  are  cold,"  he  said.  "Will  you  come  to  the 
refreshment-room  and  have  some  coffee?  It  will 
probably  be  abominable,  but  it  may  be  hot." 

I  began  to  say  "  No,  thanks,"  but  he  was  leading  the 
way  and  I  was  docilely  following. 

He  did  not  speak  again,  and  I  nibbled  a  sponge-cake 
and  drank  my  coffee  in  silence.  Raising  my  eyes  from 
a  time-table  I  was  making  a  pretence  of  studying,  I 
surprised  him  in  one  of  his  long  stares.  He  finished  it 
to  the  end  in  no  way  disconcerted. 

"You  have  not  been  well  since — I  last  saw  you?" 
he  queried. 

"  Quite,  thanks,"  I  answered  lightly. 

"Really?  Your  looks  belie  you.  You  seem  very 
seedy." 

"  I  was  never  better,"  I  persisted. 

He  looked  at  me  searchingly  again,  and  to  my  great 
annoyance  my  own  eyes  dropped  and  I  felt  the  color 
rush  into  my  cheeks.  I  defy  any  one  to  withstand  that 
stare  of  Robert  Inderwick's  without  flinching.  When 
I  thought  he  really  would  have  finished  I  looked  up 
again,  but  he  was  still  staring  at  me. 

"  Do  you  know,"  I  said,  "  that  is  a  very  bad  habit  of 
yours." 

"What?" 

"  Of  staring  at  people.    It  is  most  embarrassing." 

[270] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said.  "I  did  not  know  I 
was;  but  I  find  it  difficult  not  to  look  at  you." 

"  Why  ?  "  I  queried  with  interest. 

"It  is  hard  to  say,  but  yours  is  a  face  one  likes  to 
look  at.  It  is  not  that  it  is  so  pretty,  but  it  changes  so 
rapidly;  one  moment  it  is  sad — almost  pathetic — and 
the  next  it  is  brimming  over  with  gaiety  and  happiness. 
I  wonder  if — your  character  is  the  same,  if  your  likes 
and  dislikes  change  with  the  same  lightning  rapidity, 
because  if  I  thought  so  I  would — ask  you  a  question." 

"Don't,"  I  interrupted  hastily,  "there  is  not  time. 
I  must  go  for  my  train,  I  shall  miss  it." 

I  rose  precipitately. 

"One  moment,  please  sit  down  for  one  moment." 
He  took  my  arm  and  pushed  me  back  gently  on  to  the 
chair.  "I  must  speak.  I  may  not  see  you  again  for 
weeks,  and  it  will  be  a  relief  for  me  to  know  that  I  have 
left  nothing  unsaid." 

"You  have  said  too  much"  (I  spoke  bitterly),  "that 
is  the  trouble.  You  have  put  an  end  to  our  friendship 
and  given  me  nothing  in  return.  For  the  last  week  you 
have  avoided  me  as  though  I  were  possessed  of  a  devil." 

"I  have  offered  you  all  I  have,  Hazel.  It  may  not 
be  very  much,  but  there  it  is.  The  Old  Hall  Farm  may 
not  be  large  or  grand,  but  my  love  for  you  could  not  be 
measured  by  any  ordinary  standard  of  cubic  feet  or 
inches,  it  is  too  big,  but  you  refuse  it  all." 

I  steeled  myself  against  the  sad  ring  in  his  voice. 

"  I  want  your  friendship,"  I  cried  querulously. 
[271] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERL.AND 

"  And  that  I  cannot  give,  it  is  impossible.  Anything 
else,  but  not  that." 

"But  why?" 

"  Because  you  have  made  it  too  difficult  for  me.  It 
must  be  all  or  nothing.  Can't  you  see,"  he  went  on 
passionately,  "that  when  a  man  loves  a  girl  as  I  love 
you,  it  is  morally  impossible  for  him  to  be  her  friend." 
He  leaned  across  the  table.  "Can't  you  understand, 
or  are  you  too  dense  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  must  be  too  dense,"  I  said,  trying  to  laugh ; 
his  vehemence  had  unnerved  me.  "  But  what  was  this 
question ?  I  must  go." 

"It  was  about  Heatherland.  It  struck  me  after  I 
had  left  you  the  other  day  that  there  might  be  other 
reasons  for  your  refusing  me  besides  the  bootlaces  and 
disreputable  tie — by  the  way,  do  you  see  I  am  wearing 
a  green  one  ?  " 

"Yes,  it  suits  you  admirably;  go  on." 

"Well,  I  was  wondering  if  the  idea  of  settling  in 
Heatherland  were  distasteful  to  you.  I  know  you  are 
tired  of  the  dulness,  and  I  would  live  anywhere  you 
liked — excepting,  perhaps,  Brighton,"  he  ruminated 
for  a  moment.  "No,  I  couldn't  stick  Brighton — but 
anywhere  else,  at  home  or  abroad  or  wherever  you 
fancied.  I  could  let  the  Old  Hall  Farm.  Old  Crabby 
has  left  things  pretty  comfortable  for  me;  I  am  not 
rich,  but  I  could  run — say  to  a  leather  hatbox  for  you 
and  lots  of  things." 

He  stopped  and  smiled  whimsically  at  me. 
[272] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

"You  are  very  good"  (my  voice  would  shake  in 
spite  of  all  my  efforts  to  keep  it  still),  "too  good.  But 
it's  not  Heatherland.  I  love  the  dear  old  village  in 
spite  of  its  dulness.  The  leather  hatbox  and  all  the 
other  things  have  their  attractions,  but  it's  not  that. 
It's " 

"What?" 

His  gruff  voice  was  very  gentle. 

"It's  the  same  as  it  was  the  other  day.  I'm — not 
quite  sure  of  myself.  You  see,  I  have  known  so  few 
men.  How  am  I  to  know  whether  I  love  you  or  not 
till  I've " 

I  hesitated. 

"  Till  you've  sampled  a  few.  Is  that  it  ?  "  he  asked 
with  a  funny  smile. 

"  No,  it  isn't,"  I  retorted  indignantly. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  then  ?  " 

"I — don't  quite  know,"  was  my  brilliant  reply; 
"but  please  don't  worry  me  any  more." 

Then  I  got  up  and  made  for  the  door.  He  picked  up 
my  belongings  and  followed  me  out. 

"Why  did  you  speak  to  me  to-day?"  I  asked  irri- 
tably. "You've  only  gone  and  got  miserable  again, 
and  you  were  quite  cheerful  with  Jerry.  If  only  you 
had  not  helped  me  you  would — have  probably  for- 
gotten all  about  me  in  a  day  or  two." 

"  It  is  possible  but  not  probable,  and  you  seemed  in 
such  difficulties.  I  never  saw  any  one  look  so  helpless." 

"  Oh,  I  should  have  managed,"  I  said  with  dignity. 
18  [  273  ] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

"You  were  not  shaping  well  when  I  saw  you,  and 
your  best  beaver  hat  would  have  been  spoiled  if  I  had 
not  caught  that  box." 

"  How  did  you  know  it  was  the  beaver  ?  " 

I  was  beginning  to  feel  more  cheerful,  he  sounded 
more  like  his  old  self. 

"I  guessed;  you  appear  to  possess  only  two  hats." 

I  laughed.    How  exactly  like  him  was  this  remark. 

"How  long  will  you  be  away?"  he  asked,  as  he 
searched  for  a  comfortable  carriage  for  me. 

"About  a  month.  Aunt  Menelophe's  eldest  son 
Wellesley,  who  is  a  journalist,  and  Mr.  Escourt — the 
man  I  told  you  about  at  the  dinner-party — are  to  be 
down  there  for  a  holiday.  Wellesley  has  had  influenza, 
and  Aunt  Menelophe  wants  me  to  help  entertain  them." 

"Indeed,"  he  remarked  dryly.  "So  you  will  have 
your  wish  gratified  and  meet  one  or  two  men." 

"I  was  unaware  I  had  expressed  such  a  wish.  I 
should  stick  to  the  truth  if  I  were  you,"  I  replied  with 
some  heat. 

"  Here  is  a  carriage,"  he  said.    "  Will  you  get  in  ?  " 

He  procured  me  a  foot-warmer  and  some  papers 
and  magazines,  and  then  heaved  a  long  sigh. 

"You  have  been  working  hard,"  I  said;  "I  am 
sorry/ 

He  smiled. 

"  Women  do  require  a  lot  of  things  when  they  travel, 
don't  they  ?  I  suppose  you  have  your  ticket  ?  " 

I  looked  blank,  and  he  started  off  down  the  platform 
[274] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

with  long,  swinging  strides.     In  two  minutes  he  was 
back. 

"Here  it  is,  and  don't  lose  it;  and — here  are  some 
roses"  (he  thrust  them  at  me).  "And  I  think  I'll  go 
now;  I  dislike  waving  to  people  in  retreating  trains." 

I  put  my  hand  into  his  without  speaking,  and,  as 
he  walked  away,  the  same  empty  sort  of  feeling  came 
over  me  as  on  Christmas  Day — the  feeling  that  some- 
thing valuable  had  gone  out  of  my  life.  I  shook  myself 
vigorously. 

"Hazel  Wycherley,  you  are  a  fool,"  I  said.  "You 
refuse  a  man — very  properly — because  you  are  con- 
vinced you  don't  love  him  sufficiently  to  marry  him, 
and  then  you  go  and  want  him  badly." 

About  half-way  down  the  platform  he  stopped  sud- 
denly, turned  round,  and  walked  deliberately  back  to 
the  carriage. 

"  Have  you  read  Browning  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

I  looked  at  him  in  astonishment. 

"  Have  you  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"No." 

"Well,  those  two  men  will  probably  spout  him  to 
you  by  the  yard." 

"Well?" 

My  surprise  was  increasing. 

"And  they'll  make  you  a  Browningite,  and  you  will 
talk  about  him.  Do  you  think  you  are  likely  to  talk 
about  him  ?  " 

His  voice  was  almost  pleading. 
[275] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"I  don't  know.    Why?" 

The  train  began  to  move. 

"It  would  be  such  a  pity,  such  a  thousand  pities. 
You  are  not  cut  out  for  that  sort  of  thing.  Women 
Browningites  talk  such  infernal  rubbish.  They  tire  one 
so,  they " 

The  rest  of  his  sentence  was  drowned  in  the  shrill 
whistle  of  the  engine  as  we  steamed  out  of  the  station. 
I  laughed.  What  a  strange  man  he  was!  I  thought 
of  him  every  minute  of  the  way  to  Blongton,  and  the 
more  I  tried  not  to  think  of  him  the  more  I  thought. 

Aunt  Menelophe  met  me.  When  she  caught  sight 
of  me  she  closed  her  eyes,  as  though  in  pain. 

"What  is  it,  Aunt  Menelophe — one  of  your  old 
headaches  ?  "  I  inquired  sympathetically. 

"  That  pink  abomination ! "  she  groaned.  "  I  begged 
of  you  never  to  wear  it  again." 

"  But  I  couldn't  travel  in  your  beautiful  beaver  with 
all  the  smuts  flying  about,"  I  protested. 

She  cast  another  pained  look  at  me,  and  then  turned 
away  quickly. 

"We  will  burn  it  to-morrow,"  was  all  she  said,  but 
there  was  a  note  of  determination  in  her  voice. 

"Now  tell  me  what  is  the  matter,"  she  commanded 
as  we  drove  away  from  the  station,  "and  try  and  be 
truthful." 

"Aunt  Menelophe!" 

"You  may  say  'Aunt  Menelophe!'  but  girls  are 
rarely  truthful  about  their  love  affairs." 

[276] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Who  said  it  was  a  love  affair?"  I  demanded 
sharply. 

"You  didn't,  but  your  face  does.  You  have  a  very 
tell-tale  countenance.  I  suppose  it's  that  Inderwick 
man?" 

She  settled  herself  more  comfortably. 

"  Why  should  you  pitch  upon  him  ?  " 

She  chuckled. 

"Merely  because  your  allusions  to  him,  in  your 
letters,  have  been  conspicuous  by  their  absence,  and 
you  appear  to  be  able  to  write  reams  about  every  other 
person  in  Heatherland.  Why  have  you  refused  him  ?  " 

"  Because  I  don't  care  about  him." 

"That  appears  to  be  an  excellent  reason;  but  are 
you  sure  you  don't  ?  " 

"Quite." 

She  turned,  and  through  her  lorgnon  examined  me 
carefully. 

"I  beg  to  differ  from  you,"  she  said.  "You  have 
marked  symptoms  of  caring  for  him  very  much." 

"  Aunt  Menelophe,"  I  began. 

"We  won't  discuss  it  now,  child.  The  subject  will 
probably  prove  exhausting.  Later — this  afternoon, 
after  I  have  been  stimulated  by  tea — we  shall  be  alone. 
Did  you  bring  your  tea-gown  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Slip  into  it,  then.  Tea-gowns  are  wonderfully 
soothing  and  helpful  in  the  matter  of  love  affairs. 
You  can  curl  and  uncurl  and  expand  in  them  com- 

[277] 


HAZEL   OF    HEATHERLAND 

fortably,  as  your  various  emotions  seize  and  overcome 
you." 

"They  won't  seize  me,"  I  broke  in;  "I  haven't 
any." 

She  smiled  with  gentle  patronage. 

"  It  is  difficult  to  form  a  correct  estimate  of  one's  self. 
You  are  bubbling  over  with  emotion.  Your  color  is 
what  novelists  describe  as  fitful;  the  tears  are  so  near 
the  surface  at  this  moment  that  I  doubt  if  you  will  last 
out  till  we  get  home." 

"Yes,  I  shall,"  I  cried  fiercely,  swallowing  an  enor- 
mous lump;  "  I  don't  feel  in  the  least  like  crying." 

"Poor  little  Hazel!"  she  said  softly;  then  she 
turned  and  kissed  me,  and  straightway  I  fell  upon  her 
neck  and  wept. 


1278] 


CHAPTER  XXI 

Aunt  Menelophe  Holds  Forth  on  the  Subject  of  Marriage 

AUNT  MENELOPHE  and  I  have  had  our  talk. 
How  adorable  she  is !  She  seems  to  have  the 
brain  of  a  man  and  the  heart  of  a  woman  and 
the  sympathy  of  an  angel.  Just  when  you  think  she  is 
being  a  little  bit  hard  on  you  a  beautiful,  soft  look  steals 
across  her  face,  and  there  creeps  into  her  voice  that 
note  of  sympathy  and  kindliness  which  one  imagines 
one  can  hear  in  the  notes  of  birds  on  soft  evenings  in 
April.  And  she  is  prettier  than  ever.  The  old  lace  at 
her  throat  looked  like  a  delicate  cobweb  mellowed  in 
September  sunlight,  and  her  hands,  as  they  lay  folded 
on  her  gray  poplin  gown,  reminded  me  of  snowflakes. 

It  was  good  to  be  again  in  that  soft-tinted,  har- 
monious, beautiful  room;  good  to  feel  my  feet  sinking 
into  the  thick  carpet,  and  to  drink  China  tea  out  of 
those  fragile  Wedgwood  cups.  I  told  her  how  good 
it  was,  how  glad  I  was  to  be  with  her,  how  nice  and 
soothing  to  feel  I  should  see  her  every  day  for  a  month. 

"For  you  will  have  me  for  a  month,  won't  you, 
Aunt  Menelophe?"  I  asked.  "You  won't  tell  me  to 

[279] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

leave  at  the  end  of  a  fortnight.  I  want  to  get  braced 
up  for — for  the  spring-cleaning.  We  are  having  it 
early  this  year  on  account  of  Easter." 

"I  thought  spring-cleanings  took  place  when  fires 
were  over,"  she  remarked. 

"We  have  another  then.  WTe  are  prodigal  in  the 
matter  of  cleanings;  they  are  our  one  extravagance." 

She  sipped  her  tea  meditatively. 

"  And  yet  you  refuse  to  marry  this  man." 

"  I  should  not  marry  for  the  sake  of  escaping  spring- 
cleanings,"  I  said  stiffly. 

She  smiled. 

"Now  don't  get  prickly;  it's  a  bad  beginning. 
Nobody  suggested  you  should.  I  was  merely  reflecting 
that  there  are  thousands  of  girls  who  would  jump  at 
such  an  offer  solely  to  escape  the  disagreeables  and 
worries  of  their  home  lives.  Such  marriages  are  rarely 
happy;  mine  wasn't.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  have  more 
grit  in  you." 

"  Yours  ?  "  I  asked  in  astonishment. 

"No,"  and  she  sighed,  "mine  was  a  mistake.  It 
was  my  own  fault.  I  married  your  Uncle  Archibald 
to  get  out  of  playing  bezique  every  evening  with  an 
aunt  who  lived  with  us,  and  who  was  stone-deaf,  poor 
thing.  It  was  difficult  to  make  her  understand  what  I 
had,  and  it  was  her  habit  to  score  my  points  as  well  as 
her  own,  so  she  invariably  won.  It  was  a  small  thing; 
but  what  annoyed  me  most  was,  I  had  to  pay  a  penny 
into  a  missionary-box  for  every  game  I  lost,  while  she 

[280] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

sat  and  chuckled.  Your  uncle  turned  up  one  night  at 
an  opportune  moment.  I  had  lost  four  games  running, 
and  my  aunt's  cheating  had  been  excessive  even  for 
her.  Before  your  uncle  left  that  evening  I  was  engaged 
to  him.  The  shape  of  his  nose  was  very  good — pure 
Greek — but  I  never  really  loved  him.  Afterward,  poor 
man,  he  developed  gout,  and  his  temper  became 
somewhat  uncertain." 

"But  he  loved  you;  he  must  have  loved  you,"  I 
interrupted. 

"Yes,  I  believe  he  was  very  fond  of  me;  but  the 
trouble  was  I  could  not  return  his  affection.  He  was 
a  good  man,  but  he  bored  me.  Even  the  shape  of  his 
nose  altered — it  was  the  gout,"  she  added  in  paren- 
theses. "But  he  never  knew;  that  was  my  one  con- 
solation. I  did  him  wrong  when  I  married  him,  and 
the  rest  of  my  life  I  spent  in  trying  to  right  it.  It  was 
exhausting  at  times,  but  I  had  my  reward  when  he 
died." 

"  Aunt  Menelophe ! "  I  cried  aghast. 

"You  misunderstand  me,  child.  Strange  to  say,  I 
felt  his  loss  deeply.  My  reward  lay  in  the  knowledge 
that  he  never  found  me  out.  Something  he  said,  just 
before  he  died,  has  always  been  a  comfort  to  me." 
Her  eyes  became  reminiscent,  and  I  wondered  would 
she  repeat  it.  She  did.  "'Mene,'  he  said,  'you  have 
been  a  good  wife,  and  I  have  been  a  poor  sort  of  hus- 
band. I  was  never  good  enough  for  you,  and  could 
never  understand  how  you  could  love  me;  but  that 

S281J 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

you  have  loved  me  has  been  the  greatest  gift  of  my  life, 
and  I  have  thanked  God  for  it  every  day.'  A  person 
with  what  is  called  a  strict  sense  of  honor  would  no 
doubt  have  promptly  undeceived  him;  I  didn't,  and 
he  died  happy.  Deceit  is  often  infinitely  preferable  to 
aggressive  honesty.  Had  I  said,  'Archibald,  you  are 
mistaken;  I  have  never  loved  you,'  I  should  have  felt 
that  he  would  have  been  restless  throughout  eternity, 
gone  wandering  about  with  bare  feet  and  catching  his 
death  of  cold;  and  a  man  who  has  suffered  from  gout 
in  this  world  deserves  a  little  peace  in  the  next." 

She  stared  into  the  fire,  and  I  could  see  that  old 
memories  were  crowding  in  thick  upon  her.  What  a 
wonderfully  expressive,  beautiful  face  was  hers,  crowned 
with  its  soft  white  hair!  And  she  had  missed  love; 
she  had  missed  what  she  had  once  said  was  the  best 
thing  in  life.  Presently  I  asked — 

"Aunt  Menelophe,  do  you  think  you  could  have 
loved?" 

She  looked  at  me  with  a  little  smile. 

"Most  women  can  love,  Hazel.  I  have  not  been 
an  exception.  Mine  came  too  late ;  it  was  after  I  was 
married,  and — he  loved  me.  So  my  work  was  doubly 
hard,  to  crush  the  one,  keep  it  down,  trample  on  it,  and 
— build  up  the  other — foster  and  tend  and  encourage 
the  small  growth  of  affection  I  had  managed  to  raise 
toward  my  husband.  It  was  very  hard;  but  the  man 
— he  was  good — helped  me,  we  helped  each  other,  and 
I  suppose  God  helped  us  both." 

[2821 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

"  Did  he  ever  marry  ?  "  I  asked  softly. 

"No,  he  never  married,  and  he  is  dead  now.  Men 
always  die  before  women.  It  takes  a  great  deal  to  kill 
us ;  women  cling  to  life  with  the  tenacity  of  a  cat.  You 
meet  about  one  widower  to  every  hundred  widows,  and 
then  he  marries  again.  I  always  contend  that  the  Lord 
cannot  love  us  as  a  sex,  for  He  never  seems  to  be  in  any 
hurry  to  summon  us  to  His  presence.  I  have  told  you 
my  story — the  small  tragedy  of  my  life — to  make  you 
think,  pause,  and  consider  well  before  either  refusing 
or  accepting  an  offer  of  marriage.  Don't  rush  at  a 
man ;  neither,  on  the  other  hand,  be  in  too  big  a  hurry 
to  send  him  away.  The  moment  he  has  gone  for  good 
you  may  regret  it.  Personally,  I  am  of  the  opinion  that 
girls  of  your  age  are  unsuited  for  marriage;  your 
hearts  are  in  too  wobbly  and  pulpy  a  condition.  You 
never  know  your  own  minds,  and  you  change  in  your 
opinions  as  rapidly  as  members  of  Parliament.  Had  I 
been  a  little  older,  I  should  never  have  married  Archi- 
bald Menzies  to  escape  playing  bezique  with  an  aunt, 
however  deaf.  But  now  tell  me  about  this  man;  I 
believe  I  should  like  him.  Describe  him  to  me;  I  am 
very  sensitive  to  looks.  Is  he  big  ?  " 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "very:  the  kind  of  man  who  seems 
to  crowd  a  room,  and  he  has  a  slow  gait  and  heavy 
tread." 

She  nodded  approvingly. 

"And  he  has  a  deep  voice  and  speaks  slowly.'* 

She  nodded  again. 

[283] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

"  And  does  he  think  slowly  ?  " 

"Very  slowly,  so  slowly  that  I  try  to  help  him  out 
with  it  sometimes,  and  then  he  waves  me  on  one  side 
as  though  I  were  a  gnat.  His  very  wave  is  big  and 
all-embracing." 

"Better  and  better,"  cried  Aunt  Menelophe;  "he 
sounds  delightful.  I  like  your  big,  slow  of  thought, 
slow  of  speech  men;  they  wear  well.  The  brilliant 
ones  are  so  tiresomely  alert,  and  full  of  themselves,  and 
as  to  how  they  are  impressing  you,  that  you  feel  worn 
out  after  ten  minutes  of  their  society.  Besides,  they 
never  listen  to  you,  and  there  is  nothing  more  annoying 
to  a  woman  than  not  to  be  listened  to.  The  less  clever 
ones  are  much  more  companionable." 

"  But  Mr.  Inderwick  is  not  stupid,"  I  said  quickly. 

"No?" 

"I  should  imagine  his  brain  to  be  exceptionally 
solid  and  weighty.  What  should  be  the  normal  weight 
of  a  man's  brain  ?  " 

"About  fifty  ounces — at  least  so  Butterby  says,  but 
probably  he  has  mixed  up  his  figures  with  something 
in  natural  history." 

"Well,  presuming  him  to  be  correct,  I  am  sure  Mr. 
Inderwick's  brain  must  weigh  sixty  ounces  at  least,"  I 
said.  "  He  seems  to  have  literally  absorbed  knowledge. 
There  is  scarcely  anything  he  does  not  know.  He  took 
all  sorts  of  things  at  Oxford."  I  paused,  trying  to 
recollect  his  degrees,  when  Aunt  Menelophe  annoyed 
me  by  suggesting  measles  or  typhoid.  "Don't  you 

[284] 


HAZEL   OF    HEATHERLAND 

want  to  hear  about  him  ?  "  I  asked  a  little  huffily,  "  or 
are  you  making  fun  of  me  ?  " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Hazel,"  she  said.  "It  was  too 
bad  to  tease  you,  but  you  looked  so  pretty  and  earnest 
and  thoughtful  that — well,  I  really  couldn't  help  it* 
Go  on;  I  am  deeply  interested." 

Somewhat  mollified  (it  was  nice  to  hear  such  a  com- 
forting description  of  one's  self  after  Angela's  pointed, 
personal  remarks),  I  continued  at  some  length. 

"  He  seems  to  be  a  remarkable  man,"  said  Aunt 
Menelophe  when  I  had  finished,  "  but  I  don't  like  what 
you  tell  me  of  his  brain.  Any  abnormal  development 
usually  signifies  the  verging  on  the  borderland  of 
insanity.  Have  you  observed  in  him  any  marked 
eccentricities  ?  " 

"  None  whatever,"  I  retorted. 

"Well,  don't  get  annoyed  about  it.  The  line  of 
demarcation  between  genius  and  idiocy  is  very  slight. 
Butterby,  for  instance,  I  am  told,  is  a  genius  in  his  way, 
and  yet  at  times  I  question  his  sanity.  As  I  said  before, 
this  Mr.  Inderwick  seems  a  unique  creation.  Now,  is 
he  good  ?  or,  I  should  say,  has  he  any  vices  ?  " 

"  He  doesn't  drink,  if  that  is  what  you  mean." 

"  You  don't  think  he  would  beat  or  kick  his  wife  ?  " 

"  I'm  convinced  he  wouldn't,"  I  replied  chillingly. 

Aunt  Menelophe  laughed.     "  Does  he  swear  ?  " 

I  hesitated,  and  she  laughed  again. 
*  "  A  little,"  I  confessed ;  "  in  fact,  a  good  deal  when  he 
is  put  out." 

[285] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

"That  is  not  peculiar  to  him.  It  is  when  they  are 
put  out  that  men  do  swear.  Have  you  corrected  him 
for  this  bad  habit  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  has  he  improved  ?  " 

"  He  did  not  appear  to  hear  me.*' 

"  More  and  more  I  am  attracted  toward  him.  If  you 
do  not  think  me  presumptuous,  do  you  mind  giving 
me  your  reason  for  refusing  him,  now  that  I  know  all 
about  him?"  She  drew  her  chair  nearer  to  the  fire. 
I  did  not  speak.  "Perhaps  you  would  rather  not  tell 
me  ?  "  she  said  gently. 

"It  is  not  that.  I  don't  mind;  but  it  is  difficult  to 
put  into  words,  and  you  will  think  me  so  small." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  she  protested.  "  A  girl  either  does 
or  does  not  want  to  marry  a  man.  A  hair's-breadth 
may  settle  it  one  way  or  the  other — a  look,  an  expres- 
sion, a  word,  a  touch,  a  thought." 

"It's  his  clothes — his  ties  and  boots,"  I  murmured 
in  a  shamefaced  manner.  "It  may  seem  petty  and 
ridiculous  to  you;  but  he  is  so  untidy.  He  has  worn 
the  same  old  cap  for  months,  and  his  coat — a  Norfolk 
jacket — is  green  with  age.  He  even  wears  it  at  church 
sometimes,  and  it  is  all  wrinkly  and  out  of  shape.  And 
he  looks  so  nice  when  he  is  well  dressed.  You  should 
have  seen  him  at  Mrs.  Moss's  party  in  his  dress  clothes. 
He  looked  almost  distinguished,  though  his  tie  was 
round  at  the  back  of  his  neck  most  of  the  evening.  And 
he  never  seems  to  know  that  his  shirt-cuffs  are  frayed, 

[286] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

and  the  day  he  proposed  to  me  the  inside  of  his  tie  was 
coming  out." 

I  paused,  for  Aunt  Menelophe  was  laughing.  She 
signalled  to  me  to  stop,  and  then,  quickly  recovering 
herself,  motioned  me  to  go  on,  but  I  wouldn't. 

"You  are  laughing  at  me  again,"  I  said,  "and  I 
don't  wonder.  It  does  sound  small  and  ridiculous. 
Let  us  talk  of  something  else.  I  have  already  said  too 
much.  You  cannot  understand;  you  are  too  broad- 
minded,  too  above  such  littleness,  too " 

"  Hazel  Wycherley,  if  you  say  another  word  I  shall 
slap  you,"  she  broke  in.  "Haven't  I  told  you  I  am 
completely  sympathetic  with  you  ?  If  a  man  had  pro- 
posed to  me  when  wearing  such  a  tie  I  should — well, 
I  should  have  told  him  to  put  on  another,  and  then 
come  back  to  me.  A  man  has  no  right  to  go  round 
proposing  to  nice  girls,  looking  like  a  rag-picker.  But 
it  is  your  face  which  upsets  me.  Do  you  know  that  you 
had  such  a  worried  expression  on  that  one  small  face  of 
yours  that,  had  I  not  laughed,  I  should  have  been 
bound  to  weep  out  of  sheer  sympathy.  The  whole  of 
the  cares  and  troubles  of  the  world  lay  in  your  eyes  as 
you  spoke  of  that  tie,  and  I  can  quite  enter  into  your 
feelings.  It  is  just  these  small  things  which  irritate 
and  disillusion  a  girl.  She  likes,  and  quite  naturally, 
that  her  lover  or  husband  should  be  smart  and  spick 
and  span — not  effeminate  or  foppish,  but  to  be  well 
shaved,  well  set  up,  and  clean." 

"  He  is  not  dirty,"  I  said. 

[287] 


HAZEL   OF    HEATHERLAND 

Her  lips  twitched. 

"  I  was  under  the  impression  you  said  he  was." 

"  You  are  mistaken.  I  said  his  clothes  were  old  and 
shabby;  but  his  linen — his  collars  and  shirts — are 
scrupulously  clean,  and  he  shaves,  and  I  know  he  has 
a  bath  every 

I  stopped  in  confusion,  for  Aunt  Menelophe  had 
retired  behind  a  small  fire-screen  she  was  holding,  and 
her  body  was  undulating  gently. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  said  in  smothered  accents.  "  The  fire 
is  burning  my  face.  I  am  listening,  go  on." 

"That  is  all,"  I  said  loftily.  "I  am  tired  of  the 
subject." 

She  dropped  the  screen. 

"Come  and  kiss  me,  child,"  she  commanded,  "at 
once." 

I  rose  and  did  her  bidding.  She  stroked  my  cheek 
for  a  moment  or  two. 

"What  a  hot-tempered,  touchy  little  girl  it  is,"  she 
said  at  length.  "  Do  you  fly  out  at  Mr.  Inderwick  like 
this  ?  I  wonder  he  had  the  courage  to  say  anything  to 
you.  Those  big  men  are  often  so  shy." 

I  felt  a  little  ashamed,  but  I  made  no  reply.  I  was 
not  going  to  be  drawn  further. 

"  Is  he  shy  ?  "  she  asked  softly. 

"No,"  I  answered. 

"  Well,  then,  I  expect  he  is  cheeky  ?" 

"Perhaps." 

She  laughed. 

[288] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Aren't  you  going  to  forgive  me?"  she  asked.  "I 
never  meant  to  laugh,  but — your  describing  his 
baths " 

"I  did  not,"  I  broke  in  hotly.  "It  was  only  when 
you  implied  he  was  dirty.  Rose,  our  housemaid — she 
is  the  daughter  of  old  Crabby's  cowman — it  was  she 
who  told  me.  One  cannot  help  hearing  the  village 
gossip." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Aunt  Menelophe.  "  Besides, 
such  interesting  information!  What  an  extraordinary 
place  Heatherland  must  be!  Haven't  the  people  any 
occupation  ?  " 

"  Not  much." 

"How  bad  for  them!  So  they  discuss  people's 
bathing  ?  " 

"They  discuss  everything.  They  know  how  many 
clean  changes  of  linen  we  have  a  week,  and  that  Angela 
wears  her  flannel  petticoats  ten  days  because  of  the 
shrinking.  They  know  how  many  pounds  of  butter 
we  consume  in  seven  days,  and  that  we  have  three- 
pennyworth  of  cream  every  Sunday  to  eat  with  our 
fruit  tart  at  dinner.  The  fact  that  Mr.  Inderwick  had 
accompanied  me  on  a  walk  one  day  was  buzzed  round 
the  entire  village  within  twenty-four  hours.  And 
Sammy — Sammy — our  old  gardener — actually  told  me 
lately  that  I  had  every  appearance  of  wanting  to  mate 
— those  were  his  very  words — that  the  villagers  had 
noticed  it,  had  seen  it  in  my  face,  that  I  looked  'pale 
and  peaky-like.'  Wasn't  it  horrible  ?  Can  you  wonder 
19  [  289  ] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

at — at  my  refusing  Robert  Inderwick?  They  would 
say  all  sorts  of  dreadful  things — that  I  had  set  my  cap 
at  him,  that  I  had  run  after  him,  courted  him,  flattered 
him.  Mrs.  Gates  would  turn  up  the  whites  of  her  eyes, 
and  her  elastic-sided  boots  in,  and  say  girls  behaved 
very  differently  in  her  day ;  that  then  they  were  retiring 
and  maidenly.  She  would  have  us  believe  she  was  a 
drooping,  modest-sort-of-violet  girl,  with  a  heaving 
bosom  and  labored  breath,  and  we,  knowing  her,  can't; 
one's  credulity  can  be  taxed  too  far " 

I  paused  for  breath. 

"So  it  is  not  the  shabby  clothes  and  disreputable 
tie  and  knotted  bootlaces  only"  interrupted  Aunt 
Menelophe;  "it  is  the  world's  opinion,  the  little  world 
of  Heatherland!  I  should  have  thought  you  would 
have  been  above  that.  You  care  what  Mrs.  Gates  says. 
You  are  going  to  refuse  happiness  because  of  an  elastic- 
sided-booted  woman  in  a  village.  You  are  going  to 
cast  away  the  best  thing  life  has  to  offer  you." 

"  But  I'm  not,"  and  I  stamped  my  foot.  "  Don't  I 
tell  you  I  don't  love  the  man." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

I  sat  down  wearily  on  the  hearthrug. 

"Aunt  Menelophe,  haven't  I  just  been  telling  you 
for  the  last  quarter  of  an  hour  ?  Haven't  you  listened  ?  " 

"  I  have  listened.  But  you  have  not  made  your  case 
out  to  my  satisfaction.  You  say  you  don't  love  Mr. 
Inderwick  because  he  is  shabby  and  untidy." 

"I  didn't  say  that,"  I  contradicted.  "I  said  it 
[290] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

proved  I  had  no  real  affection  for  him,  or  such  external 
trivialities  would  not  affect  me." 

"  But  that  is  where  I  differ  from  you.  I  think  it  is 
because  you  do  care  for  him  that  these  little  matters 
worry  you.  They  would  me  if  I  loved  a  man." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  But  my  heart  never  beats  suffocatingly,  and  I  don't 
thrill  all  over  as  do  girls  in  love  in  books  when  the  hero 
goes  near  them." 

Aunt  Menelophe  made  a  gesture  of  contempt. 

"You  talk  like  an  infant,"  she  said.  "You  don't 
understand,  and  if  I  explain  to  you,  you  will  still  prob- 
ably not  understand.  Perhaps  I  am  silly  to  try,  but 
really  you  are  so — so  foolish.  Now  listen.  That  which 
is  known  as  love  is  made  up  or  composed  of  many 
elements.  If  I  were  a  chemist  I  should  probably  have 
the  correct  names  of  these  elements  at  my  finger  ends, 
but  I'm  not.  I  am  just  going  to  divide  love  up  roughly 
into  two  sections — the  spiritual  or  mental,  and  the 
physical  or  emotional.  A  man's  love,  as  a  rule,  cer- 
tainly pertains  more  to  the  latter.  I  do  not  say  that 
it  is  any  better  or  worse  for  that,  it  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  question;  he  loves  in  the  way  that  Nature 
intended  him  to  love.  But  a  woman,  on  the  other 
hand,  loves  more  often  with  the  mental  side  of  her  being 
than  the  physical;  and  it  is  better  so,  it  is  Nature's 
safeguard.  Besides,  I  think  such  love  in  a  woman  is 
more  enduring,  more  lasting.  I  don't  admire  your 
southern  type  of  woman  who  thrills  and  jumps,  and 

[291; 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

has  flashing  eyes,  and  a  stiletto  concealed  up  her  sleeve. 
Her  love  is  passionate  and  all-absorbing  at  the  moment, 
but  does  it  last?  You  won't  understand,  you  are 
too  young,  but  believe  me  that  the  thrills  and  heart 
jumps  and  suffocating  sensations — the  lack  of  which 
you  complain  about  in  regard  to  your  feelings  to- 
ward Mr.  Inderwick — are  the  very  least  important 
qualifications  necessary  in  the  composition  of  a  love 
which  is  beautiful  and  steadfast  and  enduring.  What 
you  have  to  ask  yourself  when  in  doubt  is,  'Does 
this  man  bore  me?  Does  he  tire  me?  Does  he 
irritate  me?  Do  I  respect  him?  Can  I  look  up  to 
him  as  I  trust  he  will  look  up  to  me?  Shall  I  be 
ashamed  of  him?  And,  above  all,  does  the  mere 
fact  of  his  presence  bring  me  complete  contentment  ? ' 
If  it  doesn't  you  are  right  in  saying  *  No.' ' 

"But  it  does — I  think,"  I  stammered. 

"Well,  then,  why  in  the  name  of  fortune  have 
you  sent  him  about  his  business  ?  "  she  snapped.  "  I 
cannot  believe  that  because  of  his  ties  and  Mrs. 
Oates's  chatter  and  a  scarcity  of  dynamite  sensa- 
tions on  your  part  you  would  send  such  a  nice  man 
away." 

"But  I  thought  you  said  a  few  moments  ago  you 
sympathized  with  me,  and  that  a  hair's-breadth 
would  turn  the  scale  of  a  girl's  affection?" 

"I  was  referring  to  foolish,  empty-headed  girls. 
I  gave  you  credit  for  more  sense." 

"Aunt  Menelophe,  why  are  you  so  keen  on  my 
[292] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

getting  married?"  I  asked.  "Now  if  you  were  a 
mother  with  five  plain  daughters " 

"Don't  be  impertinent,"  she  said,  tweaking  my 
ear.  "I  don't  want  you  to  make  a  muddle  of  your 
life.  I  muddled  mine,  and  I  somehow  feel  you  are 
going  to  muddle  yours.  I  am  convinced  that  you 
like  this  Inderwick  man." 

"And  I'm  convinced  of  this,  that  whether  I  love 
him  or  whether  I  don't,  I'm  not  going  to  recall  him. 
So  there!" 

"You  are  a  pig-headed,  obstinate  minx,"  she  re- 
marked; "and  if  you  were  my  daughter  I  would 
keep  you  on  bread  and  water  for  a  week.  But  here 
comes  Butterby;  he  will  probably  ask  you  to  give 
him  back  that  beetle,  he  has  talked  of  nothing  else 
since  you  went." 

I  laughed  and  hugged  her,  and  wondered  if  she 
were  right  and  I  wrong.  Was  I  going  to  make  a 
muddle  of  my  life  ?  Time  would  show. 


[293] 


CHAPTER  XXII 

I  Am  Confronted  with  Another  Perplexing  Situation 

COUSIN  WELLESLEY  and  Mr.  Escourt  have 
been  here  for  thirteen  and  a  half  days,  and 
since  the  particular  Tuesday  on  which  they 
arrived  I  have  felt  exactly  like  a   railway  train,  full 
steam  up,  flying  along  at  an  express  speed  of  sixty 
miles  a  minute,  going  whither  I  know  not,  and  not 
daring  to  pause  to  think. 

Is  there  no  friendly  signalman  at  hand  to  pull  a 
lever  and  turn  me  on  to  the  right  track?  For  I 
can  see  two  tracks  ahead  of  me,  and  I  don't  know 
which  to  take.  I  am  tired  and  frightened  and  full 
of  apprehension.  I  want  to  slow  down,  to  put  on 
the  brake,  to  turn  off  steam,  and  some  force  outside 
myself  seems  to  be  urging  and  propelling  me  along. 
It  is  only  a  few  weeks  since  I  felt  like  a  thousand- 
year-old  toad,  a  weary,  lethargic  toad,  and  now  to 
be  experiencing  the  sensations  of  an  express  train! 
It  is  a  little  rough  on  a  girl. 

"There  is  a  Divinity  that  doth  shape  our  ends,' 
[294] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

and  I  imagined  this  shaping  would  be  carried  on 
quietly  and  methodically  by  gentle,  easy  stages.  I 
never  dreamed  that  I  should  be  hustled  and  bustled 
in  this  insistent  fashion,  with  a  clamoring  in  my 
ears  of  "Make  up  your  mind,  take  it  or  leave 
it,  but  don't  vacillate."  It  is  so  ridiculous  to  say 
"don't  vacillate"  in  that  peremptory  manner  when 
such  an  important  issue  is  at  stake,  when  one  false 
step  may  make  or  mar  a  life's  happiness — nay,  two 
lives. 

Now  if  mother  were  here  she  would  say,  "Pray 
over  it.  Ask  to  be  guided  aright."  I  have  known 
her  to  take  a  wet  wash  day  to  God,  and  then  with 
eyes  of  faith  sit  and  watch  a  rift  in  the  clouds;  and 
I  believe  I  should  follow  her  advice  if  God  were  a 
woman — a  woman  might  understand.  I  could  say 
to  Mary,  had  I  been  brought  up  in  another  faith, 
"Oh,  Holy  Mother,  I  am  in  a  dire  fix.  Here  are 
two  men  wanting  to  marry  me,  and  I  don't  know 
which  of  the  two  I  love. 

"One,  Robert  Inderwick,  I  admire  and  respect 
because  I  know  him  to  be  good,  and  he  would  be 
good  to  me.  He  is  slow-going,  but  would  be  faith- 
ful. He  is  careless  of  appearances,  but  in  heart  and 
mind  a  gentleman.  He  is  downright  in  thought, 
speech,  and  action,  but  gentle  and  tolerant  toward 
the  wobbly  ones  of  this  world.  He  is  rugged  and 
somewhat  ugly,  and  wears  coats  of  an  aged  aspect, 
calling  to  mind  the  gnarled,  greeny  boles  of  primeval 

[295] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

forest  trees,  but  his  muscles  are  of  abnormal  devel- 
opment, and  would  do  away  with  the  necessity  of 
keeping  a  watch-dog  on  the  premises.  His  ties  are 
compassed  about  with  cotton  wool  and  thin  places, 
and  his  bootlaces  are  full  of  knots,  but  his  rare  smile 
is  better  than  the  sun  coming  from  behind  a  cloud 
on  a  dull  winter's  day. 

"The  other,  Eustace  Escourt,  is  the  exact  an- 
tithesis. He  is  brilliant  and  handsome,  quick  of 
speech,  lithe  and  graceful,  and  faultlessly  attired. 
His  elegant  patent  boots  contain  trees  and  not  hu- 
man feet,  and  one  can  imagine  that  his  trousers 
draw  long  breaths  of  relief  at  being  released  from 
the  confining  environment  of  a  heavy  mattress  or 
the  rack  of  a  wire-stretcher.  In  thirteen  days  I 
have  seen  him  in  as  many  ties.  He  always  seems 
to  wear  the  right  thing  in  the  right  place  in  the 
right  way.  He  is  the  type  of  man  who  would  make 
a  good  bridegroom.  Then  his  conversation  is  a  re- 
velation— it  bewilders  you.  He  says  clever,  strange 
things  which  seem  to  have  quite  hah*  a  dozen  mean- 
ings, and  he  appears  to  take  it  for  granted  that  you 
have  grasped  the  lot  in  all  their  subtle  entirety  when 
you  are  hopelessly  floundering  about  after  one. 

"I  sit  by  him  at  dinner,  and  by  the  end  of  the 
meal  I  am  in  amazed  and  dazed  condition.  I  feel 
as  though  I  had  been  in  for  an  examination — my 
matriculation — or  something  equally  horrible,  and 
had  just  scraped  through  by  the  skin  of  my  teeth, 

[296] 


HAZEL   OF    HEATHERLAND 

and,  with  a  little  gasp,  I  fall  all  of  a  flabby  heap  on 
to  the  drawing-room  couch  and  fan  two  hectic  spots 
on  my  cheeks  while  sedulously  endeavoring  to  evade 
Aunt  Menelophe's  glance.  And  yet  he  fascinates 
me — fascinates  me.  So,  Holy  Mother,  help  me  if 
you  can.  Help  me  to  choose  between  these  two  men, 
and  so  give  me  peace." 

From  the  moment  Eustace  Escourt  entered  this 
house  he  has  devoted  himself  absolutely  to  me, 
talked  to  me,  walked  with  me,  read  to  me,  monop- 
olized me.  I  have  steeled  myself  against  him  a 
dozen  times  a  day.  I  have  reminded  myself  that 
I  was  the  only  girl  in  the  house,  and  therefore  it  was 
quite  natural  that  he  should  prefer  my  society  to 
Butterby  and  his  moths,  or  to  Wellesley — whose 
temper  is  irritable  after  influenza,  and  who  at  present 
spends  his  time  in  being  "  picked  up "  by  invalid  deli- 
cacies, and  playing  ecarte  with  Aunt  Menelophe. 

I  have  said  to  myself,  "If  there  were  another  girl 
about  the  place  you  would  go  to  the  wall  at  once 
or  if  Aunt  Menelophe  were  twenty  years  younger 
and  able  to  play  golf  and  go  for  long  walks  you  would 
be  completely  left  out  in  the  cold,  so  show  a  little 
pride  and  independence,  and  don't  dance  to  his  piping. 
He  is  only  playing  with  you — amusing  himself.  He 
once  said  you  were  a  little  country  girl,  by  which  he 
meant  a  gauche,  unsophisticated,  bumpkinish  sort 
of  creature,  to  be  drawn  out  and  dissected  for  want 
of  something  better  to  do."  So  I  have  said  firmly 

[297] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

that  I  don't  play  golf,  and  have  started  off  on  a  walk 
to  think  of — Robert,  and  within  ten  minutes  I  am 
receiving  my  first  lesson  in  putting  and  driving.  I 
have  refused  curtly  to  take  any  interest  in  Browning, 
and  five  minutes  later  I  am  listening  eagerly  to  his 
beautiful  rendering  of  "Pippa  Passes."  By  storm, 
stress,  and  steam  I  have  been  whirled  along,  resisting 
yet  yielding,  fighting  yet  fascinated,  drinking  in  all 
that  he  has  told  me  of  books,  places,  people,  of  that 
wonderful  life  in  town — life  lived  to  the  uttermost; 
and  now  when  I  want  to  sit  down  and  think  calmly, 
dispassionately,  weigh  things  up,  commune  with  my 
heart,  debate  with  my  reason,  look  into  the  years 
to  come,  a  voice  keeps  whispering,  whispering  into 
my  ear — confusing  me,  perplexing  me,  alluring  me 
with  its  seductiveness — "You,  too,  shall  live  this 
life,  you  shall  know  people,  you  shall  meet  brilliant 
men  and  women.  You  will  no  longer  stagnate,  you 
will  no  longer  dwell  like  a  rabbit  in  a  hutch,  a  cow 
in  a  stall,  a  potato  in  a  field,  vegetating,  rusting, 
drifting  into  a  rustiness  and  commonplaceness  which 
are  worse  than  death.  You  will  see  great  pictures 
and  hear  divine  music.  You  will  have  your  own 
salon  and  wear  beautiful  gowns.  You  are  clever — 
you  shall  be  educated;  you  are  beautiful — your 
beauty  shall  be  adorned;  you  are  good,  though  that 
matters  the  least  of  all,  and  you  shall  learn  that 
goodness  and  virtue  are  possible  without  the  tiresome 
and  old-fashioned  restrictions  of  dogma  and  creed. 

[298] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

You  shall  travel  and  see  many  strange  and  interest- 
ing places;  there  is  nothing,  in  reason,  that  you  shall 
not  do;  and — you  shall  live  every  moment  of  your 
life." 

Was  ever  a  poor,  weak  girl  more  grievously  tempted 
— a  girl  who  believes  in  the  old-fashioned  theory 
of  love,  but  who  wants  all  these  other  things  as  well  ? 

And  he  spoke  so  beautifully  and  looked  so  hand- 
some. There  was  only  one  little  jarring  note — 
that  about  goodness  mattering  the  least  of  all.  I 
am  not  good,  I  am  not  religious,  but  somehow  those 
words  hurt.  I  think  if  I  were  a  man  I  should  like 
a  woman  to  be  good. 

The  dressing-bell  has  gone — Aunt  Menelophe's 
maid  has  put  out  my  white  frock  in  readiness — it 
took  all  the  money  out  of  two  of  mother's  tin  boxes 
and  one  purse  to  pay  for  that  frock.  Dear,  kind 
old  mother!  When — I  mean  if  ever  I  should  become 
rich,  mother  shall  have  her  twelve  drawing-room 
chairs  covered  with  pink  silk  damask — she  doesn't 
approve  of  new-fangled  tapestries — and  the  sofa 
and  two  easy-chairs  shall  also  be  covered,  and  they 
shall  all  have  white  chintz  (with  little  pink  flowers) 
covers  to  wear  in  summer,  and  so  preserve  the  pink 
damask  from  fading,  and  dear  mother  will  be  happy. 

I  must  hurry.  In  less  than  three-quarters  of  an 
hour  I  shall  meet  Eustace  at  dinner.  He  will  crack 
me  my  walnuts,  and  he  will  talk  to  me.  Breath- 
lessly I  shall  follow  him  into  that  wonderful  world 

[299] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

of  his,  and  he  will  touch  lightly  upon  science  and 
religion  and  evolution,  and  things  I  had  never  so 
much  as  heard  of  till  a  fortnight  ago;  and  he  will 
give  expression  to  thoughts  and  ideas  which  would 
cause  mother  and  Angela  to  regard  him  in  the  light 
of  an  Antichrist,  and  fall  upon  their  knees  in  prayer. 

And  then — afterward — I  have  promised  to  meet 
him  in  the  library  and  give  him  my  answer.  Butterby 
interrupted  us  this  afternoon;  Butterby  gave  me 
this  blessed  hour  of  respite.  He  came  in  to  borrow 
the  beetle;  I  know  I  shall  never  see  it  again. 

"By  all  means,  dear  Butterby;  I  will  go  for  it," 
I  said. 

Eustace  caught  me  as  I  was  slipping  out  of  the 
room. 

"Come  here  to-night  after  dinner,"  he  whispered. 

I  nodded.  I  was  afraid  Butterby  might  hear  him; 
but  he  was  engrossed  in  a  picture  of  British  moths 
which  hung  upon  the  wall,  and  which  is  an  ever- 
lasting source  of  interest  to  that  extraordinary  young 
man. 

And  what  am  I  going  to  say?  What  is  to  be 
my  answer?  The  voice  keeps  on  clamorously,  per- 
sistently: "Make  up  your  mind.  For  Heaven's 
sake  cease  vacillating  and  wobbling.  You  are  old 
enough  to  make  your  own  decision."  Then  another 
voice  breaks  in  enticingly:  "You  shall  live  every 
moment  of  your  life;  you  shall  cease  to  vegetate, 
rust,  drift  into  commonplaceness,  if  you  will  consent 

[300] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

to  come  with  me."  And  now  a  third  comes  along: 
"I  have  offered  you  all  I  have,  Hazel.  It  may  not 
be  very  much,  but  there  it  is.  ...  My  love  for  you 
could  not  be  measured  by  any  ordinary  standard 
of  cubic  feet  or  inches;  it  is  too  big,  but  you  refuse 
it  all." 
Ah  me !  Why  was  I  born  a  woman  ? 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

/  Make  My  Decision,  and  Am  Not  AltogetJwr  Happy 

I  AM  engaged  to  Eustace  Escourt.  I  have  prom- 
ised to  many  him  this  coming  summer.  To 
marry!  As  I  write  the  words  it  seems  to  me 
that  the  earth  ought  to  cease  revolving,  the  sun  stand 
still,  and  the  waters  be  dried  up;  but  none  of  them 
do  anything  of  the  kind,  and  I  heard  Aunt  Menelophe 
order  a  suet  pudding  for  the  servants'  dinner  in  a 
most  every-day  tone  of  voice.  It  gave  me  quite  a 
shock;  I  almost  remonstrated  with  her.  To  think 
that  a  newly  engaged  couple  should  be  sheltered 
by  the  same  roof  as  a  common,  lumpy  suet  pudding! 
Aunt  Menelophe  was  altogether  very  matter-of-fact 
in  her  manner  this  morning.  The  only  reference 
she  made  to  my  engagement  was  to  remark  that 
marriage  usually  led  to  dulness,  frequently  to  disaster, 
and  once  in  a  blue  moon  to  delight,  which  I  thought 
she  might  have  left  unsaid,  and  with  which  sentiments 
I  do  not  in  the  least  agree.  Still,  I  cannot  help 
wondering  to  which  mine  will  lead.  Of  one  thing  I 
am  assured — it  won't  be  dulness.  Eustace  is  not  a 

[302] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

dull  person,  neither  from  all  accounts  is  London  a 
dull  place;  and  at  the  worst,  should  such  a  sen- 
sation overtake  me,  I  could  pick  a  quarrel  with  some 
one — just  a  small  quarrel  that  wouldn't  matter  much 
— and  ennui  would  straightway  be  banished  to  the 
four  quarters  of  the  globe.  I  have  ever  found  it  a 
safe  rule  to  go  by,  "When  dulness  descends  revert 
to  gentle  quarrelling." 

Disaster  I  put  from  me;  it  is  an  ugly-sounding 
word.  So  delight  only  is  left.  Of  course  I  am  going 
to  be  happy.  What  is  there  to  prevent  it?  Why 
shouldn't  I  be  as  happy  as  any  other  girl  ?  I 
— but  there!  I  won't.  I  will  not  begin  that  self- 
analysis  and  examination  and  heart-searching  which 
kept  me  awake  half  the  night,  causing  Butterby 
at  breakfast  to  tell  me  I  looked  like  a  boiled  owl, 
which  was  anything  but  kind  and  cousinly  of  him. 
Eustace  is — is  everything  that  a  sensible  girl  ought 
to  want  to  marry.  He  made  me  realize  this  last 
night  in  less  than  ten  minutes  after  joining  him.  I 
went  to  the  library  fully  determined  to  say  "No," 
and  I  left  him  after  agreeing  that  June  would  be  the 
most  perfect  of  all  months  for  our  wedding. 

How  beautifully  he  talked!  I  wish  I  could  re- 
member half  the  things  he  said.  He  spoke  of  love 
in  an  abstract,  impersonal  kind  of  way,  and  read  a 
wonderfully  beautiful  passage  out  of  a  book — I 
forget  the  name  of  it;  and  he  never  once  asked  me 
if  I  loved  him,  for  which  I  am  most  grateful.  It 

[303] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

seems  so  material  to  touch  upon  one's  own  earthly 
affections  when  your  soul  is  uplifted,  and  you  are  car- 
ried out  of  yourself  by  the  glowing  and  impassioned 
thought  and  language  of  a  passage  almost  inspired. 

Aunt  Menelophe  came  into  the  room  just  as  we 
were — finishing  our  talk.  She  stood  and  stared  at 
us  as  though  she  had  discovered  some  new  species. 

"So  this  is  what  you  are  up  to!"  she  remarked. 

A  schoolmaster,  on  the  track  of  small  boys  stealing 
apples,  would  probably  adopt  the  same  tone  on 
running  them  to  earth. 

Eustace  arose  and  offered  her  a  chair.  His  man- 
ners are  perfect. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  smiling,  "this  is  what  we  are  up 
to,  Mrs.  Menzies.  I  have  just  asked  your  niece  to 
by  my  wife,  and  I  trust  that  I  have  your  sympathy 
and  approval  in  so  doing." 

"  Have  you  accepted  him  ?  " 

She  turned  on  me  with  a  pounce. 

I  nodded. 

"God  bless  my  soul!"  she  ejaculated,  and  there 
did  not  seem  to  be  anything  suitable  by  way  of  reply. 
"Well,"  she  went  on,  "Eustace  Escourt,  you  have 
not  lost  much  time.  You  are  what  I  should  describe 
as  a  fairly  rapid  young  man." 

"I  invariably  make  my  decisions  with  a  certain 
degree  of  rapidity,  Mrs.  Menzies.  Men  are  unlike 
women  in  that  respect." 

She  gave  a  little  snort. 

[304] 


HAZEL   OF    HEATHERLAND 

"Women  look  before  they  leap." 

"Are  you  implying  that  I  have  neglected  to  do 
so,  for  it  sounds  a  little — a  little  rude  to  Miss  Wycher- 
ley?  Believe  me  I  have  considered  the  question 
carefully,  and  have  every  confidence  in  the  future." 

"Oh,  I  wasn't  thinking  of  you,"  Aunt  Menelophe 
retorted  somewhat  discourteously.  "  You're  all  right. 
It  was  Hazel  I  was  worried  about." 

"Indeed!"  He  smiled,  but  there  was  that  drawl 
in  his  voice  which  is  always  to  be  heard  when  he  is 
in  any  way  moved. 

"She  is  young  and  impetuous,  and  she  has  only 
known  you  for  a  fortnight.  I  had  no  idea  this  was 
going  on." 

"Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Menzies,  but  you  must  be  a 
little  shortsighted.  I  should  have  thought  the  least 
observant  would  have  noticed  the  marked  attentions 
I  was  paying  your  niece.  I  am  extremely  sorry  that 
you  should  feel  I  have  stolen  a  march  upon  you." 

"Of  course  you  paid  her  attention,  she  is  an 
attractive  girl,"  snapped  Aunt  Menelophe;  but — 
I  have  always  understood  from  Wellesley  that  you 
were  not  a  marrying  man." 

"  Neither  was  I  till  I  met  Miss  Wycherley."  There 
was  a  studied  calmness  about  him  which  made  me 
feel  nervous.  "You  should  not  have  put  temptation 
in  my  way." 

"I  didn't,"  she  contradicted;  "it  was  just  an 
accident." 

20  [305] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Well,  at  any  rate,"  he  persisted,  "now  that 
Hazel  has  consented  to  be  my  wife,  I  hope  you  have 
no  objection.  You  have  known  me  for  many  years; 
my  income  is  good,  my  reputation,  I  trust,  is  good; 
my  position  will  enable  me  to  keep  a  wife  in  comfort 
if  not  in  luxury.  May  I  venture  to  hope  that  we 
have  your  congratulations  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  you  have." 

There  was  just  the  faintest  emphasis  on  the  pronoun 
which  made  me  look  fearfully  at  Eustace,  but  he  did 
not  appear  to  notice  it. 

"Thanks,"  he  said  with  a  smile.  "Now  I  feel 
more  comfortable.  You  have  not  been  too  encourag- 
ing, Mrs.  Menzies." 

"She  knows  nothing  of  your  world.  I  have  not 
wished  to  be  unsympathetic,  but  she  has  been  brought 
up  simply." 

"  That  is  what  makes  her  so  attractive,"  he  replied. 

"I  hope  you  are  not  forgetting  I  am  here,"  I  sug- 
gested quietly. 

They  laughed,  and  Aunt  Menelophe  rose. 

"Come  to  my  room  by  and  by,"  she  said;  "I  want 
to  talk  to  you.  And  Eustace,"  turning  to  him,  "I 
suppose  you  are  going  to  see  Hazel's  mother?" 

"  Certainly,  but  I  shall  be  obliged  to  run  up  to  town 
first  on  business;  then  I  hope  to  go  to  Heatherland 
and  make  Mrs.  Wycherley's  acquaintance." 

My  heart  gave  a  jump  as  he  said  this.  He  was 
going  to  Heatherland,  and — Robert  would  know. 

[S06] 


HAZEL   OF    HEATHERLAND 

rt  Need  you  go  to  see  mother?"  I  asked  nervously. 
"I  think  1  would  like  our  engagement  to  be  kept 
quiet  for  two  or  three  months.  You  see,  I  might — 
I  might  not  know  my  own  mind,  as  Aunt  Menelophe 
says.  I  might  wish  to  break  off  our  engagement. 
Of  course,  I  have  no  intention  of  doing  anything  of 
the  kind,  but — well,  one  never  knows." 

He  looked  at  me  in  surprise — almost  in  displeasure. 

"That  is  rather  an  extraordinary  thing  to  say 
to  a  man  to  whom  you  have  been  engaged  exactly 
half  an  hour." 

"Of  course  I'm  only  in  fun,"  I  said,  laughing. 
"You  must  try  to  understand  when  I'm  joking." 

"I  don't  care  for  that  sort  of  joke,  little  girl," 
he  said,  drawing  me  to  him. 

I  eluded  his  embrace;  somehow  I  didn't  feel  like 
that. 

"I  must  go  to  Aunt  Menelophe,"  I  murmured. 
"She  will  be  waiting  for  me.  Good-night/'  and  in 
a  twinkling  I  was  across  the  hall  and  up  the  staircase. 

"I  don't  think  you  were  very  kind  to  Eustace, 
Aunt  Menelophe,"  I  said,  as  I  entered  her  room. 

Her  reply  was  to  motion  me  to  a  low  chair  in  front 
of  the  fire  and  hand  me  a  cup  of  cocoa  which  she 
had  just  made  on  her  little  spirit  stove.  I  accepted 
both  with  gratitude.  My  cheeks  were  burning  and 
my  hands  and  feet  were  icy.  Getting  engaged  is 
rather  agitating  work.  She  watched  me  drink  the 
cocoa,  then  she  rang  for  her  maid. 

[307] 


HAZEL   OF    HEATHERLAND 

"Parkins,  bring  Miss  Wycherley's  dressing-gown, 
comb  and  brush,  and  woolly  shoes,"  she  commanded. 

"How  did  you  know  my  head  ached?"  I  asked 
a  little  wearily,  as  she  passed  me  her  salts  and  some 
Florida  water. 

"Emotional  people's  heads  always  ache  when 
they  shouldn't  and  it  is  necessary  for  them  to  keep 
their  wits  about  them,"  she  replied. 

"Are  you  suggesting  that  mine  have  been  wander- 

ing?" 

"By  no  means.  Have  you  not  just  landed  a  man 
with  five  thousand  a  year?" 

I  sprang  to  my  feet. 

"Aunt  Menelophe,  I  did  not  think  you  would 
have  said  that  to  me.  Good-night." 

I  nearly  knocked  Parkins  over  as  I  bounced  toward 
the  door. 

"Sit  down,  Hazel,"  said  Aunt  Menelophe  im- 
peratively. "Don't  be  ridiculous.  Parkins,  take 
Miss  Wycherley's  hair  down  and  brush  it  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  then  you  can  go.  Miss  Wycherley  is 
tired  and  overwrought,  and  wants  soothing." 

"Yes,  m'm,"  said  Parkins,  regarding  me  as  though 
I  were  some  wild  animal  at  the  Zoo. 

I  fretted  and  fumed  as  she  fumbled  about  for  the 
hairpins  and  stuck  her  cold  fingers  into  the  nape  of 
my  neck;  but  when  she  once  got  to  work  with  the 
brush,  the  sensation  was  rather  pleasant  and  soothing 
than  otherwise. 

[308] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

"  Your  'air  is  very  thick  and  long,  miss." 

"Yes,"  I  replied;    "I  know  all  about  it,  Parkins." 

"You  find  it  troublesome  to  manage  sometimes, 
miss." 

"Very,  Parkins.  I  have  been  on  the  point  of 
chopping  it  off  at  least  a  dozen  times." 

I  could  feel  her  horrified  countenance  through  the 
back  of  my  head. 

"  There  is  a  bit  of  a  tangle  here,  miss,"  was  her  next 
cheering  communication. 

"I  am  all  of  a  tangle,  Parkins.  Your  information 
does  not  surprise  me." 

"Indeed,  miss!" 

"Yes,"  and  I  heaved  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Shall  I  try  and  get  it  out,  miss  ?  It  won't  hurt  you." 

"But  it  does,"  I  said  with  a  yell,  and  Parkins 
shot  to  the  other  side  of  the  room. 

"That  will  do,"  said  Aunt  Menelophe;  "you  can 
go  now,"  and  Parkins  went,  casting  furtive  looks 
behind  her. 

"I  will  see  what  I  can  do,"  said  Aunt  Menelophe, 
taking  up  the  comb  and  brush,  and  I  was  instantly 
transported  to  heaven.  Her  touch  was  as  balm  in 
Gilead,  and  it  felt  as  though,  with  exquisitely  gentle 
fingers,  each  of  my  jangled,  tired  nerves  was  smoothed 
out  and  set  at  rest. 

"How  delicious!"  I  murmured.  "I  will  forgive 
you  everything,  Aunt  Menelophe." 

She  laughed. 

[309] 


HAZEL   OF    HEATHERLAND 

"Thanks,"  she  said  dryly.  "I  was  unaware  that 
my  behavior  called  for  such  magnanimity  on  your 
part." 

"After  such  a  remark  to  which  you  gave  utterance 
not  ten  minutes  since  ?  " 

"I  was  merely  voicing  what  will  be  the  sentiments 
of  the  world  when  your  engagement  is  made  known. 
I  may  say  at  once  that  I  do  not  participate  in  them. 
My  opinion  of  you  is  somewhat  better." 

"The  world  is  rarely  kind  to  a  woman,  it  would 
seem." 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Aunt  Menelophe.  "It 
is  often  a  source  of  surprise  to  me  how  very  decent 
the  world  is  to  women;  for  some  of  them  are  fluffy 
bits  of  inanity,  and  they  are  forever  hankering  after 
something  they  can't  get.  It  frequently  puzzles  me 
to  know  what  they  do  want;  I  don't  think  they 
know  themselves.  They  indulge  in  huge  aspirations 
and  longings  for  something  outside  their  environ- 
ment. They  say  they  feel  like  skylarks  cramped  in 
a  small  cage,  and  want  to  stretch  their  wings  and 
fly;  and  they  talk  of  liberty  and  life  with  a  big  L, 
and  hanker  after  congenial  work.  Now  if  the  whole 
truth  were  known,  I  am  of  the  opinion  they  don't 
want  to  work  at  all.  They  are  idle,  and  anxious  to 
dodge  the  few  duties  of  home  life.  What  they  want 
are  husbands  and  a  good  time  generally.  It  is  quite 
remarkable  when  women  do  find  their  congenial 
work  how  quickly  they  tire  of  it,  and  then  they  cry 

[310] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

out  their  strength  is  not  sufficient  to  stand  it.  Women 
are  such  humbugs!" 

"  But  don't  you  think  any  of  them  are  in  earnest  ?  " 

"A  few  here  and  there — the  really  plain  ones 
and  the  really  clever  ones,"  she  replied,  as  she  put 
down  the  brush  and  comb  and  drew  up  a  chair  to  the 
fire. 

"Are  not  you  a  little  hard  on  them?"    I  asked. 

Her  face  became  soft  and  tender  at  once. 

"I  don't  mean  to  be.  I  am  really  very  sorry  for 
women,  not  for  the  upper  and  middle  classes — they 
have  a  pretty  good  time  on  the  whole — but  the  poor 
working  women.  My  heart  aches  for  them.  What 
lives  they  lead!  But  I  did  not  invite  you  up  here  for 
a  psychological  discussion  on  the  relative  positions 
of  women  in  the  world.  I  want  to  speak  of  the  affairs 
of  the  heart  of  one  particular  girl  I  know.  I  am 
glad  you  have  found  such  a  ready  solution  to  your 
difficulties;  I  am  glad  you  have  found — love." 

"Thanks,"  I  said. 

She  looked  at  me  quickly. 

"  You  must  feel  so  thankful  that  your  heart  dictated 
to  you  aright  in  prompting  you  to  refuse  Robert 
Inderwick.  You  might  have  been  carried  away 
by  his  sincere  love  for  you.  Girls  are  tender-hearted 
creatures.  Your  instincts  were  admirable ;  the  shabby 
ties  have  not  played  you  false.  You  should  sing 
a  Te  Deum  out  of  gratitude.  Happiness  lies  before 
you — love  and  place  and  power.  You  cannot  fail 

[311] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

to  be  blissful  with  these  three,  and  the  greatest  of 
these  is  love." 

My  mouth  became  dry. 

"You  did  not  sound  so  pleased  about  it  down- 
stairs, Aunt  Menelophe.  In  fact,  as  I  remarked 
before,  I  think  you  were  almost  discourteous  to 
Eustace." 

"I  was  taken  by  surprise.  I  felt  annoyed  at  my 
own  blindness  and  want  of  perspicacity.  No  woman 
enjoys  having  it  brought  home  to  her  that  her  dense- 
ness,  especially  in  the  matter  of  a  love  affair,  has  been 
colossal.  Here  was  I  taking  it  that  you  were  really 
deeply  attached  to  this  Inderwick,  and  there  were 
you  falling  violently  in  love  with  my  guest." 

I  shuffled.  Aunt  Menelophe  could  be  intensely 
irritating  on  occasions. 

"I  am  tired,"  I  said;   "I  think  I  will  go  to  bed." 

She  kissed  me  warmly. 

"Good -night,  dear  child;  needless  to  tell  you  to 
sleep  well.  It  is  sorrow  and  anxiety  that  keep  people 
awake." 

And  I  never  closed  my  eyes  the  whole  blessed 
night. 


[312] 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

/  Have  Some  Little  Differences  with  Eustace 

EUSTACE  has  returned  from  London.  I  had 
no  time  to  miss  him,  as  Aunt  Menelophe 
insisted  upon  my  writing  to  tell  mother  of  my 
engagement,  and  it  took  me  exactly  two  days  to 
do  this.  The  waste-paper  basket  bulged  and  over- 
flowed at  the  end  of  the  first  day.  How  could  I 
make  her  comprehend  that  I  felt  I  knew  and  under- 
stood a  man  sufficiently  in  less  than  fourteen  days 
to  undertake  to  marry  him.  Mother  is  old-fashioned. 
She  believes  in  a  man  speaking  first  to  the  parents, 
and  then  courting  the  daughter  in  a  back-parlor 
sort  of  way.  I  don't  think  for  a  moment  father  did 
anything  of  the  kind.  Mother  will  tell  you  all  about 
her  acquaintance  with  him — up  to  a  certain  point, 
and  then  she  becomes  reserved. 

As  I  sit  writing  I  occasionally  pause,  and  neg- 
ligently pass  my  left  hand  over  my  hair.  In  the 
mirror  opposite  I  can  see  what  appears  to  be  like 
unto  a  huge  dewdrop  of  great  brilliancy,  sparkling 
and  flashing  in  the  sunshine. 

[313] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

It  seems  incredible  that  this  wondrous  jewel  should 
belong  to  me,  who  still  own  and  wear  (certainly  un- 
der compulsion)  an  exceeding  ancient,  brown  stuff 
frock  which  has  seen  many  summers,  and  at  the 
moment  hangs  in  my  wardrobe  at  home  in  readiness 
for  the  spring-cleaning.  But  it  will  be  for  the  last 
time.  No  more  spring-cleanings  and  ugly  brown 
frocks,  but  salons  and  Liberty  gowns — for  did  he 
not  say  I  should  have  a  salon  and  wear  beautiful 
dresses  ? 

To  be  strictly  truthful,  I  don't  think  I  should  care 
to  undertake  a  salon.  I  was  under  the  impression 
such  things  were  only  held  by  radiantly  beautiful  or 
wonderfully  brilliant  women,  who  gathered  around 
them,  as  flies  after  a  jam-pot,  ambassadors  and  cabinet 
ministers,  and  from  whom  they  extracted  diplomatic 
and  political  state  secrets  of  great  importance,  such 
as:  The  alliance  of  the  South  Sea  Islands  and  the 
North  Pole  with  Germany;  or  that  a  discovery  had 
been  made  of  the  King's  intrigue  with  the  Duke 
of  Buckingham's  chambermaid,  and  that  the  Duke 
was  levying  blackmail  upon  the  King,  thereby  render- 
ing the  latter  exceedingly  unhappy.  Then  I  suppose 
there  are  the  literary  and  artistic  salons  held  by 
emaciated,  green-robed  women,  looking  like  so  many 
garden  leeks  touched  by  a  frost.  I  wonder  which 
Eustace  would  wish  me  to  queen — a  political,  artistic 
or  literary.  I  don't  like  the  sound  of  any.  I  think 
I  shall  refuse  a  salon  altogether.  I  want  to  enjoy 

[314] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

life;  but  I  must  go  carefully,  for  I  find  Eustace  just 
the  tiniest  bit  "difficult."  I  know  it  is  my  fault:  I 
have  always  been  sensitive,  and  it  troubles  me  to 
think  we  have  already  had  two  little  quar —  differ- 
ences. But  he  laughed  when  I  said  so,  and  quoted 
something  about  "O  blessings  on  the  falling  out," 
which  did  not  comfort  me  in  the  least. 

Our  first  words  were  about  the  ring.  It  is  really 
magnificent,  and  I  felt  he  would  say  something  beau- 
tiful and  appropriate  as  he  slipped  it  on  to  my  finger, 
and  it  came  somewhat  as  a  shock  when  he  remarked 
how  brown  my  hand  was,  that  there  was  no  mistake 
about  my  living  in  the  country,  and  I  must  see  what 
could  be  achieved  with  a  good  toilet  cream. 

I  felt  myself  stiffen,  and  unbidden  the  thought 
came  to  me  that  Robert  would  not  have  said  that; 
but  I  thrust  it  from  me — this  was  not  the  moment 
to  think  of  another  man.  After  all,  it  was  absurd 
to  expect  your  lover  to  think  you  perfect. 

"I  am  sorry  you  disapprove  of  brown  hands,"  I 
remarked  tentatively,  "because  I  never  wear  gloves 
in  summer.  It  would  be  dreadful  not  to  be  able  to 
crumble  the  warm,  brown  earth  with  your  bare  fingers, 
or  allow  the  hot,  yellow  sand  on  the  shore  to  trickle 
through  them,  or  dabble  them  in  the  little,  cool  streams, 
or  gather  flowers.  Surely  you  agree  with  me  it  would 
be  a  desecration  to  pick  little  velvety,  soft-cheeked, 
wild  flowers  wearing  stuffy  kid  gloves?" 

"Oh,  well,  you  won't  be  able  to  indulge  in  those 
delights  in  town." 

[315] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

He  spoke  quite  gently  and  kindly,  but  I  under- 
stood that  he  meant  my  hands  were  to  grow  white 
somehow,  and  my  heart  sank  at  the  prospect. 

"We  shan't  always  live  in  town,  shall  we?"  I 
asked. 

"The  greater  part  of  the  year.  I  am  not  happy 
away  from  London.  But  we  shall  go  abroad — to 
the  Riviera  and  places  where  people  do  go,  but  no- 
where where  you  will  be  free  to  make  your  mud  pies," 
and  he  laughed. 

"And  won't  you  ever  go  to  a  quiet  place,  where 
we  can  poke  about  and  find  lovely  things?" 

"  What  kind  of  things  ?  "  he  questioned. 

"Oh,  beautiful  growing  things  in  the  fields  and 
hedges,  little  roots  and  ferns  and  flowers — the  banks 
teem  with  them;  and  the  pools  are  full  of  dear  little 
water-beetles  and  long-legged  flies  which  shoot  about 
in  ridiculous  fashion;  and  there  are  the  fish  which 
rise  to  the  surface  on  warm,  sunny  afternoons  and 
lie  on  their  backs  and  bask  in  the  shallows;  and 
nests  in  the  spring — have  you  ever  seen  a  wren's  nest  ? 
It  is  a  miracle  of  mossy  cosiness.  You  sally  forth 
in  search  of  one  on  a  sunny,  springy,  clear  afternoon, 
when  the  white  clouds  are  very  high  up,  and  all  the 
hedges  and  tree-tops  are  flushed  with  a  delicious, 
tender  green,  and  you 

I  came  to  a  dead  stop,  for  Eustace  was  actually 
drumming  on  the  window-pane. 

"You  are  very  enthusiastic,"  he  said.  "I  had 
no  idea  you  were  so  poetical." 

[316] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

There  was  a  suppressed  amusement  in  his  tone 
which  irritated  me.  I  did  not  laugh  at  him  when 
he  raved  about  Browning. 

"That  is  not  poetry,"  I  answered  with  a  flash; 
"that  is  Nature." 

He  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"What  is  the  difference?" 

"The  difference  is "  I  hesitated.  "Why, 

poetry  is  the  art  of  expressing  in  beautiful  language 
a  beautiful  idea,  and  Nature  is  a  beautiful  reality — 
the  outcome  of  the  imagination  of  God." 

"Indeed!  I  am  learning  something.  And  which 
of  the  two  do  you  prefer  ?  " 

"Why  Nature  of  course,"  I  replied,  now  feeling 
sure  of  my  ground.  "Don't  you?" 

"No,"  he  said,  "I  don't  think  I  do.  Nature  is 
frequently  most  unsatisfactory,  but  true  poetry  never 
is." 

"But  surely  you  would  prefer  sitting  on  a  gate 
listening  to  the  song  of  a  lark  than  to  Shelley's  ode 
to  it?" 

"It  would  depend  on  the  gate  and  the  day.  Sky- 
larks, I  believe,  are  at  their  best  in  March  and  April, 
when  the  wind  invariably  cuts  you  to  pieces." 

I  laughed. 

"  But  their  music  is  glorious,"  I  said. 

"That  may  be  so,  but  Shelley's  language  is  an 
inspiration.  The  beauty  of  his  language  surpasses, 
to  my  thinking,  the  beauty  of  the  note  of  any  bird." 

|317] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

I  shook  my  head. 

"You  are  wrong,"  I  said  emphatically. 

To  my  great  surprise,  his  face  darkened. 

"These  are  early  days  to  be  putting  me  right," 
he  retorted  with  a  light  laugh.  "I  am  not  to  have 
so  plastic  a  pupil  as  I  expected — eh,  little  girl?" 

"  Indeed,  I  never  meant  or  wished  to  put  you  right," 
I  said  vehemently.  "I  am  not  clever  enough;  you 
know  that.  You  are  always  sounding  the  depths  of 
my  ignorance,  and — and  I  cannot  make  out,  under 
the  circumstances,  why  you  should  wish  to  marry 
me." 

"That  is  the  very  reason  I  do  want  to  marry  you. 
You  are  what  I  have  been — unconsciously — searching 
for:  someone  fresh  and  unprejudiced  and  malleable, 
and  here  I  find  you  with  quite  pronounced  views." 

"What  does  malleable  mean?"  I  asked,  ignoring 
the  latter  part  of  his  remark. 

"It  means  something  soft  and  yielding  and  pliable, 
or  literally  that  which  may  be  beaten  out  by  a  ham- 
mer." 

"I  don't  think  I  want  to  be  malleable,"  I  said, 
laughing. 

"It  is  preferable  to  being  opinionated  and  dog- 
matic," he  answered. 

"  You  like  backboneless  jelly-fish  ?  " 

He  smiled,  showing  his  white,  even  teeth. 

"If  you  like  to  put  it  that  way;  but  I  think  it 
would  be  more  picturesque  to  say  that  I  like  my  little 

[318] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

girl  to  be  soft  and  sweet,  and  young  and  open  to 
conviction." 

I,  too,  began  to  drum  on  the  window-pane.  Then 
the  funny  side  of  it  struck  me;  to  imagine  myself 
soft  and  sweet  and  yielding  was  more  than  I  could 
stand,  and  I  began  to  chuckle  softly. 

He  looked  at  me  in  displeasure,  and  my  chuckle 
broke  into  a  laugh.  He  frowned  and  took  up  a 
newspaper,  and,  seating  himself  in  an  armchair, 
began  to  read.  The  winter  sunshine,  streaming 
through  the  window,  played  amongst  his  neat,  well- 
brushed  hair,  and  on  to  his  white,  shiny  collar.  It 
struck  me  that  he  was  really  exceedingly  good-looking, 
and  the  frown  suited  him. 

"Do  you  know,"  I  remarked  pleasantly,  "you 
are  awfully  like  a  man  in  a  play.  I  can't  describe 
the  sort  of  man  I  mean,  but  he  is — well,  he  is  just 
like  you." 

His  attitude  seemed  to  be  endeavoring  to  explain 
to  me  that  he  was  unconscious  of  my  presence;  but 
I  am  of  an  amiable  and  forgiving  disposition  at  times, 
so  I  went  closer  to  him. 

"The  man  is  rather  nice,"  I  added. 

Still  no  notice.  He  crossed  one  brown-booted, 
heather-mixture  leg  and  foot  over  another,  and  studied 
the  leader  with  great  absorption. 

"Eustace!"  with  great  effort  I  made  my  voice 
plaintive  and — malleable.  "  Eustace,  won't  you  speak 
to  me  ? " 

[319] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

No  notice.  A  silence  as  of  the  dead  pervaded 
the  room,  and  the  clock's  ticking  was  simply  aggres- 
sive. 

Then  I  became  angry,  and,  marching  out  of  the 
room,  banged  the  door  to  behind  me.  I  would  show 
him  that  two  could  play  at  that  game.  If  he  were 
going  to  sulk  and  be  angry  about  nothing  at  all, 
what  would  he  be  like  when  there  was  a  real  cause 
for  it  ? 

Straightway  I  went  to  Wellesley  and  invited  him 
to  play  golf.  I  am  getting  quite  fond  of  Wellesley 
now  that  his  influenza  irritability  is  vanishing.  He 
is  not  in  the  least  like  that  which  my  imagination  had 
conjured  up  as  a  newspaper-man;  for  he  is  quite 
clean  and  well-dressed,  and  seems  to  like  other  people 
to  talk.  It  is  easy  to  see  he  is  Aunt  Menelophe's 
favorite  of  her  three  sons,  and  he  is  just  devoted  to 
her. 

"Isn't  she  a  beautiful  old  mother?"  he  asked 
me  one  day  before  her;  and  when  I  nodded  she  told 
us  not  to  make  so  much  noise  as  she  wanted  to  have 
her  afternoon  nap,  but  there  was  an  expression  in 
her  eyes,  as  they  rested  upon  Wellesley,  which  brought 
a  tight  feeling  into  my  throat.  I  hope  when  I  am 
old  I  shall  be  the  possessor  of  a  big  son  who  will  be 
proud  of  me. 

Wellesley  looked  rather  astonished  at  my  invitation. 

"Where's  Escourt?"  he  asked. 

"He's  reading,"  I  replied,  going  scarlet. 
[320] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

"  Phew ! "  he  ejaculated,  and  then  whistled. 

"Would  you  rather  not  play?"  I  inquired  with 
dignity. 

"I  would  like  it  above  all  things,  little  cousin, 
but — Escourt.  Won't  he  mind  ?  He's  a  funny  chap." 

"I  don't  think  he  will  mind,"  I  said  steadily;  "and 
if  he  does  it — can't  be  helped." 

My  cousin  whistled  again — The  Dead  March  in 
Saul,  which  was  not  inspiriting. 

"Well,  I'm  going,"  I  said.  "I  will  have  a  round 
by  myself,"  and  I  walked  off. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  shouted  Wellesley.  "Give  a 
fellow  a  chance.  I  must  put  on  my  boots." 

"You'll  take  all  the  responsibility  now,"  he  said 
as  we  walked  to  the  links.  "Escourt's  got  a  queer 
temper,  though  he  is  my  pal  and — and  a — a  very 
decent  chap,"  he  added.  (Wellesley's  more  like  a 
great  boy  than  a  man  of  thirty,  and  he's  very  tact- 
less.) 

"Why,  I  might  be  suggesting  that  we  should  run 
off  and  get  married,"  I  said  with  asperity,  "instead 
of  a  simple  round  of  golf.  If  Eustace  wants  a  game 
he  knows  where  to  find  us:  he  must  have  seen  us 
pass  the  library  window." 

"All  right,  all  right,"  sang  Wellesley.  "I'm  game 
for  anything  if  you'll  take  the  risks.  Now  will  you 
tee  off?" 

We  had  a  jolly  morning,  and  I  made  two  splendid 
drives  and  lost  only  three  balls. 
21  [321] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

As  we  were  returning  from  the  links  I  espied  Eustace 
in  the  distance  coming  toward  us.  The  fresh  air 
had  blown  away  all  my  annoyance  and  pique,  and 
cheerfully  I  waved  my  clubs  and  called  to  him.  It 
was  far  too  glorious  a  day  to  quarrel  with  your  lover; 
but  in  the  midst  of  my  friendliest  "  Coo-oo ! "  he  raised 
his  cap,  and  deliberately  turning  on  his  heel  walked 
back  to  the  house. 

"You've  done  it,"  said  Wellesley  cheerfully.  "I 
told  you  so." 

Now  I  could  have  thumped  Wellesley  with  one 
of  the  clubs,  for  a  man  to  say  "  I  told  you  so  "  is  base 
in  the  extreme;  and  it  was  with  great  strength  of 
purpose  I  held  myself  well  in  hand. 

"I  should  run  after  him  if  I  were  you,"  was  his 
next  brilliant  suggestion.  It  is  hard  to  believe  Wel- 
lesley earns  his  living  by  journalism. 

"  Wellesley,"  I  said,  turning  on  him,  "  please  under- 
stand I  have  never  in  my  life  run  after  a  man,  and 
I  don't  intend  to  begin,  so  kindly  suggest  something 
more  feasible." 

"Can't,"   said  he  feebly;    "I'm  not  imaginative." 

"Well,  then,  don't  say  anything,"  I  said,  at  which 
he  began  to  whistle  The  Dead  March. 

Aunt  Menelophe  was  coming  down  the  stairs  as 
we  entered  the  house. 

"  Where's  Eustace  ?  "  she  inquired. 

I  told  her  I  didn't  know. 

"  Don't  know  ?  "  she  repeated. 
[322] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

'No,"  I  said. 

Every  feature  of  her  face  thereupon  expressed 
that  special  brand  of  surprise  which  betokens  short- 
ness of  breath.  I  began  to  walk  up-stairs.  The  Dead 
March  in  Saul  stole  gently  after  me,  accompanied 
by  Aunt  Menelophe's  labored  breathing,  but  I  did 
not  look  round.  It  was  absurd  to  show  such  astonish- 
ment at  my  merely  declining,  in  these  early  days  of 
our  engagement,  to  be  Eustace's  keeper. 

I  went  to  my  room,  dashed  cold  water  over  my 
face,  wrestled  with  my  wind-blown  hair,  looked  at 
Eustace's  photograph,  and  went  down  to  lunch  feeling 
excessively  firm.  Eustace  was  already  in  his  place, 
and  with  his  customary  politeness  pulled  out  my 
chair,  found  my  serviette — which  invariably  leaves 
me  during  meals,  preferring  to  rest  on  the  carpet 
beneath  the  table — handed  me  the  salt  and  pepper, 
and  then  returned  to  his  lunch. 

Twice  I  made  attempts  at  conversation,  but  it  is 
difficult  to  talk  to  a  man  who  replies  in  monosyllables, 
so  turning  my  back  on  him  I  devoted  myself  to  Aunt 
Menelophe,  who  sat  with  an  amused  twinkle  in  her 
eye  and  a  little  smile  at  the  corner  of  her  lips. 

But  I  was  not  happy;  I  own  up  to  it  that  I  was 
wretched.  It  was  all  so  small  and  absurd,  and  down 
in  my  heart  I  felt  frightened.  To  what  had  I  engaged 
myself?  I  had  been  led  to  understand  that  lovers' 
quarrels  were  amusing  and  entertaining.  I  did  not 
find  this  in  the  least  so,  and  I  felt  I  was  being  made 

[323] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

ridiculous  in  the  eyes  of  my  relations  and  the  ser- 
vants. 

As  soon  as  Aunt  Menelophe  rose  I  made  quickly 
for  the  door,  and  vanished  up  the  stairs  to  my  room. 
I  would  write  a  long  letter  to  mother,  and  then  I 
would  read  Browning.  I  thought  of  Robert  and 
smiled.  He  said  I  should  read  Browning  and  talk 
of  him,  but  I  wouldn't  do  that  for — his  sake.  I 
started — what  on  earth  was  I  saying?  A  nasty 
little  uncomfortable  twinge,  not  exactly  of  pain, 
but  of — of  loneliness — shot  through  me.  How  nice 
it  would  be  if — Robert  were  here  to  go  for  a  walk, 
just  a  friendly  walk.  He  always  understood  me  so 
well,  and  our  very  silences  seemed  like  interesting 
conversations.  He  never  made  talk,  and — and  he  was 
such  a  sympathetic  listener.  A  tear  stole  down  my 
cheek;  I  knew  I  was  a  fool,  but  that  tear  relieved 
the  tension.  I  felt  I  would  like  a  real  good  cry — I  had 
not  had  one  since  the  day  Robert  had  told  me  of  his 
love — but  I  must  not  give  way  to  it.  Eustace  would 
think  I  had  been  crying  about  him,  and  that  was 
insupportable.  He  was  a  horrid,  conceited 

A  knock  came  at  the  door,  and  a  note  was  handed 
in  by  Parkins.  I  tore  it  open. 

"My  DEAREST  GIRL, 

"Will  you  come  down  to  the  library?  I  want 
to  talk  to  you.  You  looked  unhappy  at  lunch.  Per- 
haps I  was  a  little  severe  with  you.  I  forget  how 
young  you  are,  and  that  your  temper  is  a  little  un- 

[324] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

governed.     It  was  not  wise  of  you  to  go  off  this  morn- 
ing;  but  I  will  forgive  you,  so  come  at  once. 

"Yours  ever,  E.  E. 
"P.S. — I  have  been  quite  lonely,  dearest." 

I  went  to  him.  It  was  that  P.S.  that  did  it;  the 
rest  of  the  note  I  did  not  like.  He  was  very  sweet 
and  nice,  and  made  me  feel  quite  ashamed  of  myself. 
Now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  it  was  rude  of  me  to  drum 
on  the  window-pane  and  giggle  without  explaining 
the  cause  of  my  amusement,  and  I  have  really  for- 
gotten now  what  I  did  laugh  at.  But  we  made  friends, 
and  had  a  very  happy  afternoon.  Eustace  is  really 
splendid  company,  and  he  never  seems  to  get  tired 
of  talking.  Hitherto,  as  a  rule,  I  have  done  most 
of  the  talking,  and  my  friends  have  listened;  but 
now  the  order  of  things  is  reversed.  Eustace  talks 
and  I  listen.  He  is  so  clever,  and  so  anxious  to  teach 
me  that  I  cannot  but  be  grateful  to  him.  I  could 
wish  though  that  he  would  suggest  easier  and  lighter 
books  for  my  delectation  than  The  Origin  of  Species 
and  First  Principles;  and  it  was  so  much  nicer  to 
feel  that  I  was  a  direct  descendant  of  Adam  than  that, 
by  various  intricate  and  complicated  stages,  I  had 
evolved  from  something  horrid  and  unpleasant  like 
a  jelly-fish.  But  he  is  so  happy  when  he  is  pointing 
out  to  me  our  intimate  resemblance  to  fish  and  birds, 
and  frogs  and  snails,  that  I  wouldn't  interrupt  him 
for  the  world. 

[325] 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A  Walk  in  the  Rain,  and  Eustace  Talks  Ruskin 

EUSTACE  and  I  have  spent  a  peaceful  though 
somewhat  dull  day. 
In  the  morning  it  poured  with  rain,  and 
we  sat  in  the  library  and  read  Sesame  and  Lilies,  and 
Eustace  drew  my  special  attention  to  "Queen's 
Gardens"  and  the  noble  and  beautiful  and  elevating 
suggestions  there  set  forth  for  the  guidance  and  help 
of  women  who  desire  to  be  pure  and  cultured  ano 
self-reliant.  He  was  a  little  put  out  at  my  frequen 
yawning;  but,  as  I  explained  to  him,  it  had  nothing 
to  do  with  the  book.  I  always  yawn  on  wet  days; 
it  is  the  damp.  He  said  it  was  a  curious  and  un- 
fortunate habit,  and  I  agreed  with  him. 

Butterby  returned  the  beetle  to  me  at  lunch.  He 
seemed  unwilling  to  let  it  go,  and  kept  drawing  away 
his  hand — just  as  I  was  taking  it — to  examine  some 
fresh  point  of  interest  in  it.  I  asked  him,  in  a  kind 
voice,  if  he  wouldn't  like  to  keep  it  for  good,  and  he 
replied — 

"Certainly  not.  A  present  is  a  present,  but  do 
be  very  careful  with  it;  it  is  a  unique  specimen,  and 
very  valuable." 

(326] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

I  suggested  having  it  insured,  and  he  said — 

"Eh!    What's  that?" 

I  told  him  again,  and  after  some  little  considera- 
tion he  said  he  did  not  think  any  company  would 
take  it.  I  pointed  out  patiently  that  I  did  not  wish 
any  company  to  take  it,  but  to  insure  it  against  loss 
or  theft,  and  he  went  on  with  his  lunch  as  though 
he  had  not  heard  me.  I  am  sure  Butterby  is  a  little  deaf. 

In  the  afternoon  it  was  still  pouring,  and  Eustace 
taught  me  chess.  He  spoke  of  it  as  an  intellectual 
pastime,  and  it  seemed  a  suitable  description.  I 
think  it  is  the  dullest,  dreariest,  most  complicated 
game  I  ever  came  across.  Half  an  hour  at  the  moves 
gave  me  a  splitting  headache,  and  I  was  obliged  to 
borrow  Aunt  Menelophe's  eau-de-cologne  and  lie 
down.  The  only  thing  I  remember  of  the  game  is 
that  "  Gambit "  is  a  word  derived  from  the  Italian 
gambetto — a  tripping  up  of  the  heels.  The  expression 
took  my  fancy;  it  sounds  so  nice  and  light-hearted. 

I  felt  a  little  better  after  tea,  and  suggested  we 
should  go  for  a  walk.  Eustace  seemed  very  surprised, 
and  said  it  was  still  raining  and  nearly  dark,  and 
that  he  thought  it  would  be  very  unpleasant. 

I  told  him  I  felt  obliged  to  go  out  in  the  fresh  air 
once  a  day  for  the  sake  of  my  health,  and  that  I  did 
not  mind  the  rain,  as  I  had  a  stout  waterproof  and 
a  pair  of  goloshes.  I  spoke  with  unusual  firmness, 
for  I  noticed  that  he  had  again  reached  Ruskin  out 
from  the  bookcase. 

[327] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

Unwillingly  he  came  with  me,  and  he  was  right — 
it  was  not  a  pleasant  day,  though  I  felt  it  was  pref- 
erable to  being  cooped  up  any  longer  in  the  library. 
The  rain  and  damp  had  caused  the  whole  of  the 
smoke  and  smuts  of  the  Potteries  to  condense  into 
a  heavy,  black  pall,  which  hung  over  Blongton  like 
some  menacing,  evil  spirit.  In  an  unguarded  moment 
I  pointed  it  out  to  Eustace  before  turning  our  steps 
away  from  the  town,  and  he  immediately  began  again 
to  talk  about  Ruskin.  He  spoke  of  the  great  teach- 
er's dream  of  a  Utopia — socially,  morally,  physically; 
of  a  land  purged  of  railways,  machinery,  smoke,  and 
dirt ;  of  an  art  which  was  beautiful  only  when  truthful, 
natural,  pure,  and  earnest. 

I  enjoyed  it  all  so  much  at  first.  It  was  so  com- 
forting, as  we  splashed  through  the  sticky,  black 
mud,  to  dwell  on  the  beauty  of  anything,  and  Eustace's 
language  was  really  very  fine.  But,  after  a  time, 
my  thoughts  must  have  wandered,  for  it  was  with 
a  violent  start  I  came  back  to  earth  by  hearing  Eustace 
ask  me  to  take  off  my  goloshes  and  he  would  throw 
them  over  the  hedge. 

"My  goloshes,"  I  murmured  dazedly. 

"Haven't  you  been  listening  to  me?"  he  asked 
reproachfully. 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  said  hurriedly.  "You  were  speaking 
of  smokeless  fires  and  pure  air." 

"  That  was  some  time  ago.  For  the  last  ten  minutes 
I  have  been  dwelling  on  the  artistic  and  beautiful 

[328] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

side  of  woman's  dress,  and  I  was  remarking  that 
your  goloshes  were  such  an  eyesore  it  would  be  as 
well  to  remove  them." 

"  Remove  my  goloshes  ? "  I  repeated  stupidly. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  a  shade  impatiently.  "You  must 
admit  that  they  are  not  beautiful.  I  expect  you  wear 
them  from  force  of  habit — been  brought  up  to  them 
in  the  country;  but  they  are  not  necessary  if  your 
boots  are  stout." 

"But  they're  not;  I  should  catch  my  death  of 
cold,"  I  said. 

"Oh,  well,  I  don't  want  you  to  do  that,"  he  said 
somewhat  grudgingly.  "But  in  future  you  will 
have  stouter  boots  for  my  sake,  won't  you  ? " 

I  laughed. 

"If  you  wish  it,"  I  said;  "but  what — what  an 
original  man  you  are,  Eustace.  It  seems  so  funny 
to  mind  a  thing  like  a  pair  of  goloshes. 

"  Yes,  I  have  always  been  considered  a  little  original," 
he  replied,  taking  my  arm,  "and  I  am  glad  you  are 
willing  to  meet  me  in  the  matter.  It  shows  a  nice, 
yielding  spirit." 

"Oh,  I  never  mind  giving  in  about  little  things 
that  don't  matter,"  I  said  cheerfully,  and  I  was  sur- 
prised to  see  a  shade  of  annoyance  pass  over  his  face; 
but  I  did  not  appear  to  notice  it,  and  asked  him  if 
he  could  teach  me  the  correct  pronunciation  of  Don 
Quixote,  which  he  very  kindly  did,  and  a  lot  of  other 
things  as  well. 

[329] 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

Eustace  Annoys  Me,  and  I  Retire  to  My  Room  to  Sew 

I  AM  sitting  up  in  my  room  gently  fuming  at 
Eustace.  We  have  been  engaged  barely  a 
week,  and  we  have  just  quarrelled  for  the  third 
time. 

Now  if  we  had  been  married  a  year,  I  might  have 
looked  upon  it  as  a  natural  and  laudable  desire  to 
wish  to  fling  things  at  Eustace's  head.  But  an  engage- 
ment of  a  week's  standing!  Surely  there  must  be 
something  wrong. 

And,  of  course,  it  is  all  his  fault.  I  have  been 
reading  Jeremy  Taylor  and  trying  to  delude  myself 
into  believing  that  it  is  mine;  but  I  know  it  isn't. 
A  man  who  is  engaged  to  a  girl  has  no  right  to  speak 
so  to  her;  and  when  I  look  back  upon  the  provoca- 
tion given,  I  marvel  at  the  restraint  I  showed. 

We  had  been  out  for  a  drive  in  the  dog-cart.  The 
afternoon  for  the  time  of  the  year  was  perfect,  with 
thousands  of  little  white  cloudlets  sailing  along  in 
a  turquoise-blue  velvet  sky.  Eustace  drives  well, 
and  as  we  ripped  along  with  the  fresh  wind  blowing 
in  our  faces,  my  spirits,  which  had  been  depressed, 
[330] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

went  up  with  a  rush.  I  love  driving,  and  I  love  the 
fresh  wind  and  the  white  clouds  and  quiet  fields. 
I  was  gay,  and  Eustace  expansive,  and  all  went  as 
merry  as  a  marriage  bell  till  our  return  home,  when 
in  getting  out  he  said  suddenly,  "Not  that  foot 
first.  How  ignorant!  Surely  you  know  better?" 
His  voice  was  so  sharp  and  displeased  that  in  my 
flurry  and  agitation  I  fell  out,  and  scraped  my  hands 
and  barked  my  knees  on  the  sharp  gravel.  I  picked 
myself  up  quickly,  expecting  to  find  him  simply  over- 
come with  remorse,  when  to  my  intense  chagrin  all 
he  said  was — 

"You  really  must  be  more  careful.  Of  course  if 
you  get  out  of  a  carriage  with  the  wrong  foot  fore- 
most you  must  expect  to  fall.  I  am  very  sorry,  dear, 
but  it  will  be  a  lesson  to  you  in  future." 

I  stared  at  him  for  a  moment  dumfounded;  angry 
tears  rushed  to  my  eyes.  How  could  he  speak  so? 

I  stalked  into  the  house  without  vouchsafing  any 
reply. 

The  gong  had  just  sounded  for  tea,  and  Aunt 
Menelophe  was  crossing  the  hall  to  the  drawing- 
room. 

"Look  where  you  are  going,  Hazel;  don't  walk 
over  me,"  she  said.  "What  is  the  matter?" 

"Aunt  Menelophe,"  I  answered,  "I  simply  detest 
men." 

"  Already  ?  w  she  said,  laughing.  "  I  knew  it  would 
come  sooner  or  later,  but  this  is  earlier  than  I  expected." 

[331] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  asked,  clutching  at  her 
arm. 

"I  mean  exactly  what  I  say;  but  I  should  prefer 
your  not  pinching  me.  Come  and  have  some  tea." 

"  Of  course  I  was  only  generalizing." 

"  Of  course,"  she  agreed. 

Eustace  came  in  a  few  minutes  later  with  beauti- 
fully brushed  hair,  and  handed  me  muffins  in  the 
friendliest  fashion.  He  was  evidently  quite  unaware 
that  I  was  having  a  deadly  quarrel  with  him;  and 
is  there  anything  more  exasperating  than  to  be  at 
loggerheads  with  a  person  who  is  oblivious  of  the 
fact?  He  made  a  healthy  tea,  and  talked  to  Aunt 
Menelophe  of  Wedgwood  pottery. 

"Are  you  coming  to  the  library,  dear?"  he  asked 
when  we  had  finished  tea  and  were  alone. 

"No,"  I  said. 

"  You  would  prefer  staying  here  ?  " 

"No,  I  wouldn't." 

"  Where,  then,  would  you  like  to  go  ? "  he  persisted 
in  a  patient  voice. 

"I  am  going  to  my  room.  There  is  a  fire  there." 
My  tones  were  chilling. 

"  Won't  that  be  a  little  dull  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Not  at  all.  I  usually  prefer  my  own  society  to 
that  of  my  fellow-creatures." 

"But  of  course  there  are  exceptions?"  he  queried 
with  a  smile.  "  You  are  probably  referring  to  women  ?  " 

"On  the  contrary,"  I  retorted,  "I  find  women 
[332] 


HAZEL   OF    HEATHERLAND 

infinitely  more  entertaining  than  men.  Aunt  Me- 
nelophe — now  could  you  mention  a  man  more  in- 
teresting and  delightful  than  she  ?  " 

"Mrs.   Menzies   is  a  charming  woman,  but — yes, 

certainly  I  Jiave  met  one  or  two  men  who "     He 

twisted  his  mustache  and  glanced  at  himself  in  a 
mirror. 

I  got  up  and  walked  toward  the  door. 

"Are  you  really  going?"  he  said  querulously. 
"  I  was  looking  forward  to  this  little,  quiet  time  before 
dinner.  I  have  something  I  want  to  read  to  you — 
Flaubert's  Salammbo.  The  writing  is  magnificent 
— such  vivid  coloring.  It  is  a  classic  in  its  way. 
Probably  you  don't  know  it?  Your  reading  does 
not  appear  to  have  been  extensive." 

"No,"  I  replied,  "I  don't  know  it,  and  if  it  is  a 
classic  it  is  sure  to  be  dull,  and  I  know  I  shall  hate 
it." 

He  looked  positively  shocked. 

"I  don't  like  to  hear  you  speak  so,"  he  said,  "even 
in  fun." 

"I'm  not  in  fun,"  I  retorted.  "I  feel  more  like 
Molly  Bawn  or  Comin'  Thro'  The  Rye.  I  adore 
Comin'  Thro'  The  Rye.  I'll  stay  if  you'll  read  me 
some  of  that,  the  bit  where  Paul  proposes  to  Nell." 

He  smiled. 

"You  will  have  your  little  joke,"  he  said.  "They 
are  pretty  little  stories.  But  come,  take  off  your  hat, 
and  we'll  begin  Salammbo." 

[333] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"I'm  not  joking,"  I  almost  shouted.  His  tone 
of  command  irritated  me  beyond  endurance.  "I 
won't  listen  to  Salamander,  and  I'm  going  to  pack." 

"  Pack ! "  he  echoed.     "  Pack  what  ?  " 

"  My  clothes,  of  course." 

"  But  why  should  you  wish  to  pack  your  clothes  ?  " 

"To  go  home,"  I  replied.  "You  say  you  are 
going  to  see  mother,  and  I  have  written  to  tell  her  of 
our  engagement,  and  of  course  she'll  be  expecting  us." 

"But  I  have  changed  my  mind,"  he  observed 
calmly.  "It  is  an  old-fashioned  piece  of  etiquette, 
this  going  to  ask  the  parent's  consent,  especially 
when  the  daughter  is  dowerless."  (I  thought  it 
would  have  shown  a  nicer  and  more  refined  feeling 
if  he  had  suppressed  this  last.)  "I  am  sure  Mrs. 
Wycherley  will  see  this,  and  Heatherland,  from  what 
you  tell  me,  appears  to  be  an  excessively  dull,  pro- 
vincial little  village." 

"Heatherland  is  charming,"  I  said.  "We  have 
the  river  Dee  and  the  blue  Welsh  mountains  ever 
at  hand  to  cheer  us  on  our  way.  No  village  could 
be  designated  as  'provincial,'  to  my  thinking,  with 
two  such  possessions." 

"  Oh,  indeed ! "   he  commented. 

"No;  and  besides,  mother  will  be  expecting  you. 
I  told  her  you  were  going,  and  she'll  be  so  disap- 
pointed. At  this  momnt  the  spare  room  will  be 
undergoing  a  thorough  cleansing,  the  whole  house 
will  reek  with  the  scent  of  soap  and  furniture  polish, 
[334] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

and  the  white  muslin  curtains  are  going  up  a  month 
before  their  time." 

He  smiled. 

"I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to  defer  the  pleasure 
of  meeting  these  attractive  properties  till  a  few  months 
later — till  our  wedding,  eh,  little  girl?  I  suppose 
we  must  do  the  conventional  thing  and  be  married 
from  your  home,  though  village  weddings  are  the 
dullest  and  most  boring  of  functions.  Popularly 
they  are  supposed  to  be  simple  and  sweet  and  rustic, 
whereas  they  are  really  heavy  and  commonplace, 
attended  by  much  feeding  and  drinking  and  dull 
toasts.  But  ours  must  be  different.  The  reception 
must  be  under  your  shady  oak  trees,  and  you  must 
wear  some  soft,  illusive,  filmy,  dim  draperies  of  white 
chiffon,  and  not  that  stiff  horror — satin.  With  a 
dense  background  of  green,  and  a  brighter  carpet 
of  green  grass  at  your  feet,  you  ought  to  look  very 
ch " 

"Grass  doesn't  grow  under  trees,"  I  interrupted, 
"and  I  shall  probably  be  married  in  puce-colored 
alpaca;  we  are  not  modish  in  Heatherland.  But  I 
don't  want  to  talk  about  my  wedding-gown;  it  may 
nev — I  mean  June  is  a  long  way  off,  but  what  I  do 
want  to  discuss  is  this  question  of  going  home.  I 
know  mother  will  be  expecting  you.  She  will  be 
hurt  and  disappointed  if  you  treat  her  in  such  in- 
different fashion;  and,  besides,  I  think  you  ought 
to  go." 

[335] 


HAZEL   OF    HEATHERLAND 

"Don't  be  unreasonable,  dear,"  and  his  voice 
drawled  in  the  way  I  have  learned  to  dread.  "You 
must  try  not  to  be  conventional,  it  is  so  narrowing. 
This  asking  a  mother  for  her  daughter's  hand  would, 
in  our  case,  be  simply  an  empty  formality.  You 
and  I  have  agreed  to  marry  each  other.  You  are 
of  age;  there  is  nothing  more  to  be  said." 

"But  mother  might  object  to  you,"  I  persisted; 
"and  as  for  conventionality,  the  boot  is  on  the  other 
leg.  It  is  you  who  are  conventional." 

"That  is  not  a  very  cultured  or  refined  expres- 
sion," he  said,  smiling  and  showing  his  white  teeth, 
"and  it  is  a  great  surprise  to  me  to  know  that  any 
one  could  dub  me  as  a  conventional  being.  May 
I  ask  in  what  way  I  have  fallen  into  such  a  depressing 
error?" 

And  when  I  told  him  he  became  very  annoyed. 

"  That  is  not  conventionality,"  he  retorted.  "  There 
is  a  correct  way  of  eating  and  an  incorrect.  You 
would  not  eat  asparagus  with  a  knife  and  fork.  So 
there  is  a  correct  way  of  getting  out  of  a  carriage 
and,  as  you  know  to  your  sorrow,  an  incorrect." 

"Yes,  but  you  did  not  care  about  my  falling;  you 
were  only  thinking  that  my  awkwardness  would 
make  it  clear  to  the  world  that  I  was  unaccustomed 
to  carriages,"  I  said  hotly. 

He  colored  slightly. 

"You  are  very  imaginative,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  deny  it  if  you  can.  I  would  not  have  minded 
[336] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

had  you  spoken  gently  and  kindly.  I  am  quite  will- 
ing to  be  taught,  but  it  wounds  me  when  you  speak 
so,  Eustace." 

"Well,  you  must  try  not  to  be  such  a  touchy  little 
thing.  I  think  it  is  only  kind  to  point  out  to  you 
your  little  mistakes.  You  know  they  are  your  best 
friends  who  tell  you  of  your  faults." 

"Then  the  Lord  deliver  me  from  such  friends," 
I  said  devoutly;  "I  would  prefer  a  host  of  enemies. 
I  know  those  friends,  and  would  gladly  attend  their 
funerals." 

"You  are  very  uncontrolled  and  excitable,"  he 
sighed,  seating  himself  on  the  sofa.  "Let  me  see, 
how  old  do  you  say  you  are  ? " 

"I  shall  be  twenty-two  on  the  18th  of  May,"  I 
said  glibly. 

"So  much?  I  should  not  have  thought  it.  Well, 
come  and  sit  down  here  by  me.  I  want  you  to  try 
and  realize,  dearest,  that  when  I  speak  so  it  is  for 
your  good." 

"  No,  thanks;  I  am  going.  I  don't  want  to  realize  it." 

"  But  why  go  ?  I  want  you  to  stay  with  me.  This 
time  together  before  dinner  has  always  been  so  pleas- 
ant, hasn't  it?" 

"I  don't  think  I  have  enjoyed  it  very  much,"  I 
said  slowly  as  I  opened  the  door. 

His  eyebrows  took  unto  themselves  such  an  ex- 
pression of  extreme  surprise  that  I  laughed  in  spite 
of  myself. 

22  [337] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,"  he  said  in  a  voice  which 
implied  he  didn't  believe  me.  "What  are  you  going 
to  do  in  your  room  that  will  be  more  entertaining?" 

"Stitch  a  new  braid  on  my  skirt,"  I  said;  "it  is 
fascinating  work,  and  gives  me  an  opportunity  to 
think.  Much  conversation  is  a  weariness  to  the 
flesh  when — another  person  does  all  the  talking. 
Good-by." 

Aunt  Menelophe  has  been  talking  to  me.  When 
I  heard  her  knock,  and  she  came  in — a  beautiful, 
gracious  presence,  with  her  soft  grays,  and  soft  rustling 
of  silken  skirts,  and  the  faint,  clean,  sweet  smell  of 
lavender,  which  always  clings  to  her — I  felt,  suddenly, 
so  overpoweringly  in  love  with  her  that  I  was  obliged 
to  get  up  and  put  my  arms  round  her  and  hold  her 
tightly. 

"How  nicely  you  do  smell,  Aunt  Menelophe,"  I 
said,  as  I  wheeled  up  an  armchair  to  the  fire  and 
put  her  into  it.  "Somehow  you  always  make  me 
think  of  the  hymn — 

"Pleasant  are  Thy  courts  above, 
Pleasant  are  Thy  courts  below." 

"Do  I?  It  is  lavender — home  grown.  But  what 
are  you  doing  up  here  alone?"  she  said,  smiling. 

"Sewing,"  I  told  her. 

"It  seems  an  unusual  and  prosaic  sort  of  thing 
for  a  newly-engaged  girl  to  be  doing  when  her  fiance 
is  in  the  house,"  she  remarked. 

[338] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Girls  must  be  tidy  even  if  they  are  engaged," 
I  said  evasively. 

She  laughed. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Aunt  Menelophe,  I  have  noticed  that  if  ever  I 
am  quiet  or  desire  to  be  alone,  everybody  instantly 
jumps  to  the  conclusion  that  there  is  something  the 
matter  with  me,  or  that  I  am  sickening  for  some 
illness.  It  is  so  depressing.  Should  I  not  be  gabbling 
away  at  home  or  tearing  about  with  Dibbs,  mother 
invariably  asks  me  if  I  have  a  headache.  Now  it 
is  a  little  trying,  isn't  it,  that  I  can  never  be  quiet  or 
enjoy  a  little  communing  with  my  own  spirit?" 

"Because  it  is  not  natural  to  you.  Any  one  can 
see  that  you  are  an  intensely  gregarious  creature 
given  the  right  sort  of  people  with  whom  to  consort; 
besides,  stitching  on  braids  is  dull,  nasty  work.  Par- 
kins would  have  done  it  for  you." 

"I  am  enjoying  it  immensely,"  I  said  untruth- 
fully, "  and  have  had  a  lovely  think." 

"What  have  you  been  thinking  about?"  she  in- 
quired. 

I  hesitated. 

"I  have  been  thinking  of  the  descent  of  man  and 
the  ascent  of  woman.  I  wonder  how  it  has  come 
about  that  women  are  so  much  superior  to  men — 
so  much  bigger  and  broader." 

Aunt  Menelophe  sat  back  in  her  chair  and  laughed. 

"  It  is  not  a  month  since  I  heard  you  express  exactly 
[339] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

the  opposite  sentiments,  and  you  say  you  are  con- 
sistent." 

"A  lot  has  happened  in  a  month,  Aunt  Menelophe," 
I  said.  "A  foolish  consistency  is  the  hobgoblin 
of  little  minds,  adored  by  little  statesmen  and  philoso- 
phers and  divines.  With  consistency  a  great  soul 
has  simply  nothing  to  do." 

"Oh!"  said  Aunt  Menelophe. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "that  is  from  Emerson.  Eustace 
read  it  to  me  last  night." 

"Oh!"  said  Aunt  Menelophe  again. 

"I  must  now  dress  for  dinner,"  I  observed,  getting 
up  and  beginning  to  put  away  my  work;  "but  you 
needn't  go  unless  you  like."  But  Aunt  Menelophe 
was  moving  slowly  toward  the  door  and  she  disap- 
peared through  it  still  repeating  "Oh!"  under  her 
breath. 


[340] 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

/   Receive   Some   Letters   of   Congratulation,   and 
Eustace  Again  Annoys  Me 

WHEN  one  is  going  to  be  late  for  breakfast  at 
Blongton  Hall,  you  must  skip  either  your 
bath  or  your  prayers  and  Bible  if  you  desire 
to  get  down  before  Butterby  has  consumed  the  whole 
of  the  eggs  and  bacon.  Butterby  is  so  tiresomely 
absent-minded  at  meals.  Now  this  morning  I  chose 
the  latter  course.  For  one  thing,  the  "Children's 
Scripture  Union"  authorities  have  willed  that  its 
members  should  read  the  book  of  Numbers  for  its 
daily  portion,  and  Numbers  is  not  interesting;  and 
for  another — well,  since  I  began  to  read  all  those 
strange  books  of  Eustace's  my  prayers  have  not 
seemed  so  convincing  as  of  old.  It  seems  impossible 
to  believe  that  God — no,  this  First  Cause — can  be 
bothered  listening  to  the  requests  of  a  foolish  girl 
when  He  has  so  much  to  do  and  arrange  in  all  these 
billions  of  worlds. 

And  yet  I  feel  sorry,  and  somehow  I  feel  lonely. 
It    was    always    comforting    to  think  that  some   one 

[341] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

was  understanding  when  I  tried  to  be  patient  with 
Angela.  Certainly  I  did  not  try  half  enough,  but 
now  it  seems  that  it  won't  matter  at  all,  though  Eustace 
says  it  will.  He  says  we  must  do  right  for  its  own 
sake,  and  from  love  of  humanity.  If  I  am  going 
to  do  right  out  of  my  love  for  Angela  a  precious  lot 
I  shall  get  done. 

As  I  walked  down  the  stairs  to  breakfast  it  came 
over  me  that  it  was  the  very  first  time  in  my  life  I 
had  left  my  bedroom  in  a  morning  without  saying 
my  prayers.  I  had  skipped  them,  it  is  true,  shortened 
them,  but  I  had  never  left  them  utterly  unsaid.  I 
stood  irresolutely  with  my  hand  on  the  banisters,  half 
inclined  to  turn  back,  when  Eustace  appeared.  He 
asked  me  what  was  the  matter,  and  why  I  was  looking 
so  troubled,  and  like  a  stupid  I  told  him.  My  knowl- 
edge of  him  might  have  led  me  to  realize  that  he  could 
not  understand  how  I  felt — after  all  these  years  of 
saying  my  prayers — suddenly  to  leave  them  unsaid; 
but  it  hurt  me  so  badly  when  he  laughed.  He  stooped 
and  kissed  me  when  he  saw  my  cheeks  flame  up, 
and  put  his  arm  round  me,  but  I  couldn't  forget  the 
laugh. 

"Were  your  prayers  such  a  comfort  to  you?"  he 
asked,  still  smiling. 

"No,"  I  replied,  "not  often,"  and  I  tried  to  walk 
on. 

"Well,  why  do  you  feel  it  so  much,  the  not  saying 
them?" 

[342] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Supposing,"  I  said,  "you  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  saying  'good-morning'  to  some  one  for  nearly 
twenty  years,  and  suddenly  one  day  you  found  the 
person  had  vanished,  wouldn't  you  feel  a  little  lonely  ? 
Especially  if  there  were  nothing  left  to  take  that 
person's  place." 

"But  that  is  where  you  make  a  mistake,"  he  re- 
torted; "there  is." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"There  may  be  for  clever  people  such  as  you, 
who  are  strong  and  self-reliant  and  can  stand  alone, 
but  where  do  I  come  in  ? " 

"You  must  lean  on  me,  little  one,"  he  replied, 
again  putting  his  arm  round  me,  "I  will  help  you 
and  teach  you." 

"But  I  don't  want  you,"  I  cried,  wriggling  away; 
"I  want  my  old  faith.  You — you  can't  take  the 
place  of  God  to  me.  Can't  you  see?  You  have 
taken  everything  away  from  me,  and  in  its  place 
you  offer  me  yourself  and  some  difficult  doctrine 
of  which  I  cannot  make  top  nor  tail.  I  wish  you 
had  never  read  me  that  old  Evolution  book." 

"But  the  theory  of  evolution  does  not  necessarily 
take  away  your  Christ,"  he  said,  looking  deeply 
offended. 

"  It  does,"  I  snapped.  "  It  makes  me  feel  as  though 
I  had  been  standing  on  my  head." 

"I  think  you  want  your  breakfast,"  he  replied, 
stalking  in  front  of  me  with  his  head  in  the  air,  and 
perhaps  he  was  right. 

[343] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

Four  letters  were  lying  on  my  plate,  and  I  guessed 
their  contents. 

"Congratulations,  I  suppose?"  said  Aunt  Menel- 
ophe  after  a  time.  "What  does  your  mother  say? 
I  hope  she  is  surviving  the  shook." 

"She  appears  resigned,  and  is  engaged  in  purchas- 
ing calico  and  flannel  for  my  trousseau,  and  Angela 
is  copying  out  receipts.  They  wish  to  make  me  a 
good  housewife,"  and  I  glanced  at  Eustace. 

"  What  a  horrible  prospect,"  he  said. 

"Don't  be  alarmed,"  I  replied,  laughing;  "house- 
keeping is  not  my  metier." 

"Which  is  a  pity,"  remarked  Aunt  Menelophe 
severely.  "Neither  of  you  will  be  happy  if  what 
you  say  is  correct.  Eustace  will  be  uncomfortable 
and  hungry,  and  you  will  be  annoyed  at  his  daring 
to  be  hungry,  and  then  he  will  go  to  his  club." 

"And  I  shall  go  to  mine.  I  love  meals,  what  I 
call,  out  of  doors.  I  can't  remember  the  occasion 
on  which  I  have  not  dined  from  off  our  own  large 
table  at  home.  It  will  be  such  a  pleasant  change. 
But  I  must  continue  my  letters;  they  are  most  inter- 
esting. Mother's  accounts  have  gone  wrong.  She 
is  one-and-sixpence  out,  and  wants  me  to  help  her 
if  I  can." 

"Chimney-sweep,"  said  Butterby,  so  unexpectedly 
and  suddenly  that  I  spilled  my  coffee.  I  sat  and  stared 
at  him. 

"  Whatever  made  you  think  of  that  ?  "  I  asked.  "  It 
was  very  clever  of  you." 

[344] 


HAZEL  OF  HEATHERLAND 

"Not  at  all,"  he  retorted,  looking  pleased.  "I 
heard  you  read  out  to  the  mater  in  the  last  letter 
from  your  mother  that  your  kitchen  chimney  re- 
quired sweeping." 

"Butterby,"  I  said,  "you  are  a  genius;  I  always 
knew  it.  I  will  at  once  send  mother  a  postcard  to 
that  effect.  You  are  the  kind  of  man  who  will  make 
your  mark  in  the  world." 

"Are  you  wanting  that  beetle  back?"  he  asked 
somewhat  unkindly. 

I  had  once  again  lent  it  to  him. 

"No,  I'm  not,  Butterby.  How  can  you  misjudge 
me  so?"  I  asked  in  hurt  tones,  and  they  all 
laughed. 

When  breakfast  was  over  Eustace  asked  me  to 
go  to  the  library. 

"There  is  a  little  book  on  monistic  and  genetic 
philosophy  I  want  to  read  to  you,"  he  said.  "I 
think  it  will  help  you  to  feel  happier." 

"  Is  it  about  monasteries  ?  "  I  inquired. 

He  gave  a  little  sigh. 

"You  have  a  lot  to  learn,  but  I  shall  enjoy  teach- 
ing you.  You  are  fairly  quick,  but  we  must  lose 
no  time." 

"Couldn't  we  wait  till  after  we  are  married?" 
I  suggested,  my  heart  sinking  as  I  saw  him  reach 
two  awful-looking  books  out  of  the  shelves.  "I 
want  to  read  you  these  letters;  they  are  so  dear  and 
funny.  I  shall  have  heaps  of  time  by-and-by  to  learn 
all  about  this  genesis  philosophy." 

[345] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Genetic,"  he  corrected  me,  sitting  down  and 
looking  resigned.  "  Are  they  long  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  want  to  hear  them  ?  "  I  asked  in  nettled 
tones. 

"Not  very  much;  but  what  interests  you  must, 
of  course,  interest  me.  I  must  train  myself  to  seeing 
things  with  your  eyes." 

My  first  impulse  was  to  fling  the  letters  at  his  head, 
but  I  thought  better  of  it.  We  must  not  again  begin 
the  day  with  quarrelling;  it  seemed  so  bourgeois. 
Besides,  were  we  not  to  be  married  in  six  months  ? 

"They  are  not  very  long,  and  I  think  will  amuse 
you,"  I  said,  trying  to  speak  gently. 

"Well,  come  nearer  to  me;  I  like  to  watch  your 
face  when  you  read,"  he  said. 

This  was  a  great  improvement.  I  liked  him  so 
infinitely  better  when  he  spoke  thus  than  when  he 
was  talking  about  dull  things  like  psychic  gradations 
and  the  embryology  of  the  soul. 

I  seated  myself  on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  and  began 
with  mother's  letter: 

SHADY  OAK,  HEATHERLAND, 

"February  7th. 
"MY  DEAR  HAZEL, 

"The  news  of  your  engagement  in  your  letter 
received  this  morning  came  to  us  as  a  very  great 
surprise;  in  fact,  it  has  so  bewildered  me  that  I  cannot 
get  my  accounts  to  balance,  though  I  have  been  at 
them  for  over  two  hours.  I  cannot  trace  what  I 

[346] 


HAZEL    OF    HEATHERLAND 

must  have  omitted  to  enter,  and  there  is  a  deficit  of 
Is.  6d.  Angela  has  done  her  utmost  to  assist  me, 
but  I  should  be  glad  if  you  were  at  hand,  for  you 
have,  in  the  past,  been  so  remarkably  successful 
in  helping  to  elucidate  matters.  Perhaps  you  will 
remember  the  occasion  on  which  I  was  2s.  8d.  short, 
and,  after  endless  worry,  was  about  to  enter  it  into 
my  petty  cash  book  as  'sundries,'  a  thing  I  greatly 
dislike  doing,  when  opportunely  you  came  into  the 
room  and  reminded  me  of  '  fowl  food.' 

"But  now,  my  dear  child,  I  must  speak  to  you  on 
a  more  important  subject.  I  offer  you  my  warmest 
wishes  for  your  future  happiness.  I  cannot,  at  present, 
add  congratulations  until  I  have  made  Mr.  Escourt's 
acquaintance,  which  I  trust  will  be  very  soon. 

"  I  am  bound  to  say  that  I  think  it  would  have  been 
more  admirable  on  your  fiance's  part  had  he  gained 
my  sanction  before  approaching  you,  but  possibly  he 
spoke  to  your  Aunt  Menelophe  as  regarding  her  in  the 
light  of  your  chaperon  while  you  were  under  her  roof. 

"  I  must  confess,  too,  that  I  am  assailed  with  grave 
doubts  when  I  reflect  upon  the  brevity  of  your  ac- 
quaintance with — I  suppose  I  must  say  Eustace, 
though  it  seems  somewhat  familiar  to  speak  so  of  a 
stranger.  You  say  in  a  fortnight's  time  you  have 
seen  more  of  him  and  know  him  better  than  you 
would  have  done  in  an  ordinary  way  in  fourteen  years. 
Am  I  to  take  it  from  this  that  you  have  met  him  in 
an  extraordinary  way  ?  I  do  trust  that  you  have  been 
in  no  way  bold  or  unmaidenly  in  your  behavior. 
(Your  father  used  to  say  I  was  as  elusive  as  a  shadow; 

[347] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

of  course  I  was  very  small.  I  think  it  must  be  more 
difficult  for  a  tall  girl  to  be  elusive.)  But  I  must 
put  such  a  suspicion  behind  me.  No  daughter  of 
mine  would  be  immodest,  of  that  I  am  convinced. 

"  And  now  that  I  have  fulfilled  my  duty,  as  a  mother, 
and  read  to  you  my  little  homily,  I  must  turn  to  pleas- 
anter  matters. 

"On  receipt  of  your  letter,  I  hastened  to  the  box- 
room  to  examine  your  grandmother's  veil.  It  is  in 
excellent  preservation  and  of  a  lovely  color,  old  Lim- 
erick, and  a  large  size.  It  should  reach  almost  to  the 
end  of  your  train.  There  is  also  a  Limerick  lace 
flounce.  I  cannot  help  feeling  that  they  will  cause 
quite  a  sensation  in  Heatherland,  and  it  pleases  me 
to  think  that  Mrs.  Boyds  will  see  them.  She  will 
then  understand  that  we  have  come  of  some  family. 

"You  say  that  Mr.  Es. — Eustace  is  desirous,  with 
my  approval,  that  your  marriage  should  take  place 
in  June.  The  time  is  very  short  in  which  to  prepare 
your  trousseau;  but  we  can  engage  Phrebe  Ellis  to 
come  in  and  help  with  the  plain  sewing.  Her  tucking 
is  superior  even  to  Angela's,  and  she  still  strokes  her 
gathers,  which,  in  these  days  of  machinery  and  slop- 
work, is  a  virtue  not  to  be  overlooked. 

"It  is  satisfactory  to  know  that  Eustace  is  a  man 
of  means,  for  I  do  not  think  you  would  have  made 
a  very  suitable  wife  for  a  poor  man.  Your  darning 
is  bad,  and  there  is  much  to  be  desired  in  your  cook- 
ing. However,  perhaps  you  will  now  begin  to  im- 
prove and  learn.  Angela  has  already  begun  to  write 
you  out  some  of  our  best  and  tried  recipes. 

[348] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"I  am  looking  forward  to  the  day  when  you  bring 
your  fiance  to  Shady  Oak.  Angela  and  I  are  paying 
a  few  calls  this  afternoon.  Some  weeks  have  elapsed 
since  I  saw  Mrs.  Moss.  Should  any  item  strike  you 
which  I  might  have  omitted  to  enter  into  my  account- 
book  please  send  me  word. 

"  With  my  love  to  your  Aunt  Menelophe  and  much 
to  yourself, 

"I  remain, 

"YOUR   AFFECTIONATE   MOTHER." 

"Isn't  she  a  dear?"  I  said.  "She  will  be  as  sen- 
timental over  our  wedding  as  a  girl  of  sixteen.  Mother 
is  such  a  strange  mixture  of  practicality  and  sen- 
timentality. I  am  sure  you  will  like  her." 

"  She  seems  a  funny  old  lady,"  he  remarked. 

"She  is  not  old,"  I  contradicted;  "she  is  only 
middle-aged,  and  wears  such  pretty  caps,  which, 
however,  are  usually  on  one  side,  rather  detracting 
from  the  staid  appearance  they  ought  to  give  to  her. 
Mother's  only  fault  lies  in  her  preference  for  Angela 
to  me;  it  seems  short-sighted  of  her." 

He  smiled. 

"And  what  is  Angela  like?" 

I  felt  pleased  at  his  interest,  and  when  he  wasn't 
looking  smuggled  the  two  dry  books  to  the  back  of 
the  chair. 

"Angela  is  unlike  anything  else  God  ever  created," 
I  said  impressively.  "If  you  like  I  will  read  you 
her  letter?" 

[349] 


HAZEL   OF    HEATHERLAND 

He  nodded  assent,  and  I  began  to  realize  once 
more  what  a  really  nice  man  he  was,  though  his  moods 
were  as  numberless  as  the  sands  of  the  sea. 

"MY  DEAR  HAZEL,"  I  began,  reading  out  loud, 

"I  write  to  offer  you  my  congratulations  on  your 
engagement.  Naturally  we  are  astonished,  and  I 
must  confess  that  I,  for  one,  never  anticipated  your 
marrying. 

"Mr.  Escourt  is,  apparently,  a  man  of  no  small 
courage;  but  you  inform  us  that  he  has  a  good  in- 
come, so  that  explains,  a  little,  what  would  otherwise 
appear  to  us  incomprehensible,  for  a  man  meeting  a 
girl  away  from  home  on  a  visit  cannot  possibly  judge 
of  her  capabilities  as  a  housekeeper.  However, 
mother  and  I  must  endeavor  to  do  all  we  can  toward 
overcoming  your  deficiencies  in  this  respect  during 
the  next  six  months. 

"I  have,  at  some  sacrifice  to  myself,  decided  to 
hand  over  to  you  the  management  of  the  housekeeping 
and  cooking  during  that  period,  and  I  shall  always 
be  ready  to  assist  and  advise  you.  I  am  making 
out  a  list  of  the  household  work  and  regulations  for 
each  day  of  the  week,  which  I  trust  you  will  implicitly 
follow.  It  has  taken  many  years  of  experience  and 
much  anxious  thought  to  arrive  at  that  perfection 
in  the  arrangement  of  the  multifarious  duties  of  a 
household,  such  as  ours,  as  to  permit  of  Rose's  being 
dressed  for  the  front-door  bell  by  three  o'clock.  The 
least  alteration,  therefore,  will  upset  the  entire  work 
of  the  house.  Some  housekeepers  might  be  of  the 

[350] 


HAZEL    OF    HEATHERLAND 

opinion  that  it  was  impossible  to  clean  the  stair-rods 
every  week,  but  I  maintain  that  it  can  be  done,  and  is. 

"I  thought  you  would  be  glad  of  some  good  and 
economical  recipes  for  your  new  home  (cookery  books 
are,  as  a  rule,  misleading  and  grossly  extravagant,  the 
writers  of  them  appearing  to  be  under  the  misappre- 
hension that  fowls  lay  all  the  year  round),  so  I  have 
purchased  a  6d.  exercise  book  with  sensible  stiff  cov- 
ers, and  in  my  spare  time,  which  as  you  are  aware  is 
limited,  will  copy  out  all  our  most  valued  and  proved 
recipes,  among  them  being  'How  to  spice  a  round 
of  beef,'  always  a  great  favorite  with  men. 

"  Before  closing  I  must  ask  if  your  fiance  is  addicted 
to  smoking?  For  if  this  be  the  case  the  muslin  cur- 
tains shall  be  put  up  in  the  dining-room  before  your 
arrival ;  they  will  not  hold  the  fumes  of  tobacco  to  the 
same  extent  as  would  the  heavy  damask  ones.  You 
will  remember  that  on  one  occasion  after  a  visit  from 
Mr.  Inderwick,  who  smoked  a  peculiarly  pungent 
cigar — or  was  it  a  black  pipe? — we  were  under  the 
necessity  of  taking  them  down  and  hanging  them  in 
the  croft  for  two  days,  and  even  then  the  smell  was 
exceedingly  disagreeable. 

"We  shall  expect  Mr.  Escourt  immediately  after 
his  return  from  London,  as  naturally  we  wish  to 
sanction  your  engagement,  or  otherwise,  prior  to  its 
general  publication. 

"  As  Reas  are  holding  their  annual  sale  this  month, 
mother  and  I  are  going  up  to  town  to-morrow  to 
purchase  some  calico  and  flannel  for  your  under- 
clothing. The  calico  shall  be  fine,  as  we  are  aware 
of  your  preference  for  nainsook,  but  the  latter,  in 

[351] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

such  a  climate  as  ours,  is  ridiculous  and  simply  invites 
rheumatism. 

"With  love,  I  remain, 

"Your  affectionate  sister, 

"ANGELA  B.  WYCHERLET." 

"  Now  what  do  you  think  of  that  ?  "  I  said,  chuck- 
ling. "That  will  be  your  sister-in-law." 

"She  seems  very  middle-class,"  he  replied  as  he 
closed  his  eyes. 

My  cheeks  flushed  hotly. 

"And  that  is  what  we  are,"  I  answered.  I  don't 
love  Angela,  but  the  contempt  in  his  voice  got  all 
my  pride  up  in  arms.  "We  are  middle-class — and 
so  are  you." 

He  flushed  in  his  turn. 

"That  was  a  little  unnecessary,"  he  said;  "I  did 
not  say  you  were  middle-class.  How  touchy  you  are!" 

At  once  I  was  sorry. 

"I  know  I  am  touchy,"  I  laid  my  hand  on  his, 
"and  you  must  help  me  to  try  to  overcome  it.  I 
am  horribly  sensitive,  Eustace — always  have  been, 
and  you  must  be  patient  with  me,  and — and — love 
me.  You  do  love  me,  don't  you  ? "  I  finished  trem- 
ulously. 

He  looked  at  me  in  surprise. 

"  Haven't  I  picked  you  out  of  all  the  women  I  know 
and  asked  you  to  be  my  wife  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes — I  suppose  so,  but  that  doesn't  say  you  love 
me.  I  don't  think  somehow  you  seem  quite  satisfied 

[352] 


HAZEL   OF    HEATHERLAND 

with  me.  For  instance,  yesterday  you  didn't  approve 
of  my  frock,  and  the  day  before  you  said  I  was  opinion- 
ated and  dogmatic,  and  to-day  you  say  my  family  is 
middle-class  and " 

"At  the  moment  I  think  you  are  the  silliest  little 
girl  in  the  world,  and  I'm  surprised  at  you.  You 
must  understand  that  naturally  I  want  my  fiancee 
to  be  the  best-dressed  and  nicest  and  most  superior 
woman  of  my  acquaintance.  I  want  my  friends  to 
be  envying  me  my  luck  and  wishing  they  could  marry 
Hazel  Wycherley.  Now  finish  your  correspondence. 
I  had  no  idea  I  was  marrying  into  such  an  entertain- 
ing family." 

He  picked  up  the  letters  which  had  fallen  to  the 
ground  and  handed  them  to  me. 

Only  feeling  half  satisfied  and  far  removed  from 
that  joy  and  happiness  which  I  had  looked  upon 
as  my  due  as  being  one  of  the  "engaged"  ones  of 
this  world,  I  continued  to  read  my  correspondence. 
There  had  been  no  note  of  love  in  Eustace's  voice 
as  he  had  said,  "  I  want  my  friends  to  be  envying  me 
my  luck."  I  might  have  been  a  something  bought 
with  money  of  whom  he  was  speaking,  and  from 
whom  he  meant  to  derive  as  much  satisfaction  as 
was  possible.  He  had  paid  a  high  price  for  it;  there- 
fore it  must  amuse  and  interest  him.  He  couldn't 
be  expected  to  amuse  and  interest  it;  that  was  quite 
outside  his  calculations. 

"This  is  from  Sammy,  our  dear  old  gardener," 
[353] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

I  said  with  a  sigh.  "Sammy  is  very  fond  of  me. 
Sometimes  I  take  him  out  a  glass  of  beer  when  he 
is  mowing,  though  I  don't  think  he  loves  me  for  that 
alone." 

I  looked  at  Eustace,  but  he  was  staring  out  of 
the  window. 

"SHADY  OAK  COTTAGE, 

"  February  7th,  A.D. 
"  MY  DEAR  Miss  HAZELT, 

"The  mistress  tells  me  as  how  you  are  goin' 
to  get  married,  so  I  herewith  write  to  offer  you  my 
congratulashions,  which  may  seem  misunderstandable, 
as  I  never  got  married  myself.  But  I  says  marrage 
is  for  wimin  who  seems  to  like  it,  but  not  for  men 
who  is  better  single.  So  I  was  right  in  my  calcula- 
shons  in  the  happle-room  the  day  as  you  wanted 
to  go  to  a  hisland  and  sit  on  yaller  sands  and  eat  a 
shrub.  I  was  correct  in  sayin'  you  wanted  to  mate. 
The  symptims  never  decaves  me.  I  says  to  myself 
when  I  saw  you  afterwards  jumpin'  about  amongst 
them  cabbages,  'Sammy,  you  mark  my  words  Miss 
Hazelt  will  have  catched  a  'usband  in  six  months' 
time,'  and  you  have.  You  did  dredful  dammage 
to  those  cabbages.  I  had  to  boil  three  of  'em  with 
the  pig-food. 

"I  do  hope  as  'ow  you'll  be  happy,  Miss  Hazelt. 
I  shall  miss  you  dreadful,  cos  the  Missis  says  you  be 
goin'  to  live  in  London.  I  went  to  the  '  Black  Horse ' 
this  mornin'  to  order  a  load  of  minnure  from  Farmer 
Bowmphrey,  who  husually  frequents  that  place  about 

[354] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

11  o'clock,  and  just  quite  casual-like  I  mentions  as 
how  I  knew  some  one  who  was  goin'  to  be  married,  and 
the  company,  which  was  quite  select,  guessed  as  how 
it  was  you  and  Mr.  Hinderwick,  and  when  I  says  no 
it  was  you  and  a  grand  gentleman  from  London, 
they  was  greatly  surprised  and  said  as  how  they  didn't 
think  you  would  have  done  so  well  for  yourself.  Those 
were  their  very  words.  And  then  Joey  Tomlinson 
hups  up  and  says,  'We  will  drink  their  health,'  and 
although  it  is  against  my  customs  of  a  mornin'  I 
fell  in  with  the  suggestion,  not  to  appear  onfriendly- 
loike.  So  we  drinks  your  'ealth,  Miss  Hazelt,  you 
and  your  young  gentleman's. 

"  Hopin'  this  will  find  you  as  well  as  it  leaves  me  at 
present, 

"  From  your  obedient  servant, 

"SAMUEL  J.  BROSTER." 

"Who  is  Mr.  Inderwick?"  was  Eustace's  first 
question. 

"A  man  who  lives  in  Heatherland.  I  have  often 
meant  to  tell  you  about  him,  but  somehow  I  didn't," 
I  said. 

"  Did  he  want  to  marry  you  ?  " 

"He  does,"  I  corrected. 

"  And  you  refused  him  ?  " 

"Obviously,  as  I  am  engaged  to  you." 

"Well,  now  for  your  last  letter.  Heatherland 
seems  to  produce  oddities  of  the  first  water." 

Now  I  could  have  wished  Eustace  would  have 
shown  greater  interest  and  curiosity  in  Robert  Inder- 

[355  J 


HAZEL   OF    HEATHERLAND 

wick.  His  complete  indifference  piqued  me.  He 
just  put  him  on  one  side  as  though  he  were  some- 
thing not  worth  considering.  Was  he  so  sure  of 
himself,  so  certain  of  my  affection?  Suddenly,  to 
my  horror,  I  found  myself  saying,  "Why,  you  self- 
satisfied,  conceited  ape,  Robert's  little  finger  is  worth 
your  whole  beautiful  body." 

I  sprang  up.  Supposing  I  had  said  it  out  loud: 
supposing  Eustace  could  read  my  thoughts.  I  looked 
at  him  fearfully,  anxiously;  but  he  was  standing 
in  front  of  the  mirror  twisting  his  mustache  into 
two  spiral  points.  For  the  moment  he  had  forgotten 
my  existence.  I  watched  him  curiously,  thoughtfully. 
It  seemed  strange  that  he  should  attach  greater  impor- 
tance to  the  training  of  his  mustache  than  to  the  fact 
that  there  was  in  the  world  another  man  desirous  of 
marrying  me.  Now  if  he  had  so  much  as  mentioned 
another  girl's  name  I  should  have  been  overwhelmed 
with  curiosity  and  jealousy;  I  should  have  wanted 
to  hear  every  single  thing  about  her,  and — he  stood 
engrossed  in  his  mustache.  I  walked  over  to  the  win- 
dow and  looked  out  on  to  the  drive  and  the  links  beyond. 
To  the  left,  nothing  but  a  dreary  expanse  of  chimneys 
and  smoke  met  the  eye;  it  was  depressing  and  dull. 
My  vision  conjured  up  another  scene — the  Dee  and 
blue  Welsh  mountains,  and  soft,  snowy  fields,  and 
the  figure  of  a  big,  stalwart  man  tramping  along  at 
my  side  in  silent  sympathy  with  my  small  troubles. 
The  shabbiness  and  old  tie  and  knotted  bootlaces 

[356] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

faded  away;  only  the  kindness  and  sympathy  and — 
and  love  were  there,  the  rest  had  gone.  Involuntarily 
I  turned  and  looked  at  Eustace's  face ;  absent-mindedly 
I  went  nearer  to  him  for  a  better  inspection.  I  looked 
up  at  him. 

"  Do  you  ever  wear  bootlaces  with  knots  in  them  ?  " 
I  cried  sharply. 

"Certainly  not,"  and  he  stared  at  me  in  such  utter 
amazement  that  I  laughed  feebly. 

"Are  you  quite  certain?"  I  repeated.  "I — I  wish 
you  did." 

His  mouth  opened  and  shut  again,  just  like  a  fish's 
when  it  has  been  out  of  the  water  for  some  time. 

"Don't — don't  look  at  me  like  that,  or  I  shall 
scream,"  I  whispered. 

"Hazel,  have  you  gone  out  of  your  mind?"  he 
asked. 

I  nodded. 

"I  think  I  have.  I  don't  know  which  I  want  to 
do  most,  laugh  or  cry.  I  think  I  must  be  hysterical 
— I  feel  all  funny  and  trembling,  and  my  throat  is 
very  tight.  No,  don't  touch  me;  I  shall  be  better 
soon.  It — it  must  be  the  excitement  of  my  engage- 
ment. I  lead  such  a  quiet  life  in  the  ordinary  way; 
and  these  letters  they  are  too  funny,  too  screamingly 
funny,  in  the  face  of  what  is  coming.  But  I  think 
I  must  go  away  now;  I  want  to  be  alone.  I  am  sorry 
you — you  don't  wear  old  boot-laces,"  and  I  fled 
from  the  room. 

[357] 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

I  Take  Decisive  Steps. 

PICKING  up  a  wrap  of  Aunt  Menelophe's  which 
lay  on  the  hall  table,  I  rushed  into  the  garden 
and  made  for  the  shrubbery  at  the  side  of  the 
house,  and  there  I  walked  up  and  down,  up  and  down 
between  the  rhododendron  and  laurel  bushes  till  I 
became  calmer. 

It  had  been  raining,  but  now  the  sun  was  out, 
and  the  bay  leaves  and  box  edging  and  damp  earth 
sent  forth  a  deilicous,  fresh,  wet  scent.  Raindrops 
glistened  on  the  ivy  which  clambered  over  a  lor:, 
tumble-down  wall,  and  a  robin  perched  on  a  laures- 
tinus  bush  seemed  in  excessively  good  spirits. 

Everything  but  myself  seemed  happy  and  cheerful. 
Only  I  appeared  to  possess  lobes  in  my  brain  stretched 
to  bursting-point. 

I  sat  down  on  the  wall  and,  clasping  my  hands 
round  my  knees,  settled  myself  for  a  good  think. 
I  would  endeavor  to  sort  up,  arrange,  classify,  and 
marshal  my  various  emotions  to  their  proper  places. 
It  was  unsatisfactory,  and  neither  fair  to  Eustace  nor 

[358] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

myself  to  continue  our  engagement  when  I,  for  one, 
was  in  a  constant  state  of  volcanic  upheaval.  I  would 
look  the  matter  fairly  and  squarely  in  the  face.  Had 
I  made  a  mistake?  Was  I  unduly  sensitive?  Or 
was  Eustace  impossible  to  me  as  either  lover  or  hus- 
band? 

Eustace  himself  answered  my  last  question.  He 
sauntered  down  the  path  with  his  lithe,  graceful 
swing,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  bits  of  blue  sky  showing  through  the  branches 
of  the  trees.  I  knew,  though  he  did  not  appear  to 
see  me,  that  he  was  aware  of  my  presence;  he  was 
evidently  looking  for  me,  a  damp  shrubbery  was  not 
the  sort  of  place  Eustace  would  haunt.  I  also  knew 
the  exact  moment  when  he  would  give  a  start  of  sur- 
prise at  seeing  me,  it  would  be  when  he  arrived  at 
the  laurestinus  bush.  My  conjecture  was  correct, 
and  his  surprise  was  natural  and  well  expressed. 

"Hallo!  you   here.     What  are  you   doing?" 

"Sitting  on  a  wall  and  soliloquizing,"  I  answered. 

"I  expected  you  to  say  you  were  thinking  of  me." 

"I  was." 

"But  the  expression  of  your  face  was  not  very 
happy." 

I  did  not  reply. 

He  seated  himself  on  the  wall  beside  me. 

"I  have  been  searching  for  you  for  some  time. 
I  wish  you  would  not  dash  off  in  that  way,  dear,  it 
is  so  disconcerting.  There  I  had  prepared  for  a 

[359] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

morning's  walk  and  study  with  you.  I  had,  at  some 
trouble,  drawn  up  a  short  treatise  which  I  hoped 
might  be  of  some  help  to  you  in  your  various  religious 
difficulties;  and  first  you  take  up  a  good  deal  of  valu- 
able time  in  reading  those — unique  specimens  of 
composition,  and  then,  without  a  word  of  warning, 
you  are  seized  with  a  morbid  desire  that  I  should  wear 
old  boot  laces,  go  into  mild  hysterics,  and  hide  your- 
self in  this  damp,  unwholesome  swamp.  It  is  a 
little  inconsiderate  of  you,  and  I  desire  some  explana- 
tion of  your  conduct." 

To  my  surprise,  instead  of  feeling  violently  angry 
at  the  tone  he  adopted,  I  was  seized  with  an  over- 
whelming desire  to  laugh.  He  did  sound  so  ridicu- 
lously hurt  and  offended. 

My  answer  was  quite  irrelevant. 

"  Eustace,  do  you  know  you  are  so  different  from 
what  I  thought  you  were." 

"Indeed!" 

"  Yes,  isn't  it  a  pity  ?  I  thought  your  inside  matched 
your  outside,  and  I  find  it  doesn't.  It  is  so  disap- 
pointing." He  turned  and  looked  at  me,  and  his 
brows  drew  together.  "You  will  wonder  what  I 
mean,  and  I  am  going  to  try  and  tell  you  if  you  don't 
mind  staying  here  with  me  for  a  little.  But  are  you 
sure  you  are  warm  enough  ?  I  am  so  accustomed  to 
being  out  of  doors,  and  I  always  like  to  discuss  things 
that  matter  out  of  doors."  He  made  no  reply,  and 
my  heart  gave  a  little  twitter,  but  I  grabbed  at  my 

[360] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

courage  and  went  on.  "Yes,  you  are  so  very  different 
from  what  I  imagined." 

"I  am  not  responsible  for  your  imagination,"  he 
remarked  coldly. 

"No,  of  course  not.  I  quite  agree  with  you  in 
that.  It  is  I  who  am  to  blame,  therefore  I  am  all 
the  more  wretched.  I  should  not  have  idealized 
you.  It  is  not  your  fault." 

He  made  a  movement  of  impatience. 

"You  speak  in  riddles.  I  think  you  are  meaning 
to  be  rude,  but  your  language  is  vague.  I  don't 
quite  follow  you." 

"  I  will  try  to  make  myself  clearer,  but  it  is  difficult 
to  say " 

I  picked  up  a  piece  of  ivy,  and  slowly  dissected  it. 

Suddenly  he  put  his  arm  round  me. 

"What  is  it?     What  is  the  matter,  Hazel?" 

He  spoke  more  gently. 

I  pushed  him  away. 

"Don't  do  that,"  I  cried.  "Don't  be  kind  to  me 
now,  it  will  only  make  it  more  difficult  what  I  am 
going  to  say  to  you.  Eustace,  I  want  you  to  release 
me  from  my  engagement." 

He  started  violently,  and  I  nearly  fell  off  the  wall. 

"Impossible!  You  don't  know  what  you  are  saying." 

"Yes  I  do.     I  am  not  happy." 

"  Not  happy  ?  "  he  repeated  in  surprise. 

"No.  It  may  seem  incredible  to  you,  but  I  am 
really  wretched.  I  cannot  marry  you.  I  am  sorry." 

[361J 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

He  stared  in  front  of  him  and  frowned  heavily. 

"If  this  is  a  joke  of  yours  it  doesn't  amuse  me — 
it  doesn't  appeal  to  me." 

"I  am  not  joking.     I  am  in  deadly  earnest." 

"But  you  cannot  mean  what  you  say.  It's  ridicu- 
lous! We've  only  been  engaged  a  little  over  a  week." 

"And  that  has  been  a  week  too  long.  I  blame 
myself  very  much.  I  was  carried  away.  You  dangled 
an  alluring  bait  before  my  eyes  and  I  jumped  at  it. 
Now  I  have  begun  to  realize  that  to  have  it  I  must 
have  you,  and,  on  closer  acquaintance,  I  find  I  don't 
want  you.  Forgive  me,  but  I  could  not  live  with  you, 
and  we  should  both  be  unhappy." 

"It  is  a  pity  you  did  not  find  this  out  sooner,"  he 
said  frigidly. 

"A  thousand  pities,"  and  my  voice  trembled. 

"But  your  letters  of  congratulation.  Your  friends 
in  Heatherland.  Think  of  the  way  people  will  talk." 

"  I  am  thinking." 

"  And  you  can  face  it  ?  " 

"I  don't  like  the  prospect,  but  it  is  preferable  to  a 
life  of  unhappiness." 

"You  don't  mince  matters." 

"This  is  not  the  moment  for  politenesses.  Besides, 
have  you  ever  spared  my  feelings  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"What  do  I  mean?"  I  replied  slowly.  "Have 
you  ever  ceased  correcting  and  instructing  me  since 
the  moment  I  said  I  would  be  your  wife  ?  Have  you 

[362] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

ever  ceased  making  me  miserably  conscious  of  my 
deficiencies  ?  " 

He  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"You  are  not  fair.  That  is  just  like  a  woman. 
You  expressed  a  desire  to  learn.  You  are — how  shall 
I  put  it? — somewhat  old-fashioned  and  provincial 
in  your  views.  I  thought  you  would  feel  out  of  it  in 
my  set  in  London.  As  my  wife  you  will  mix  with  all 
sorts  and  conditions  of  men  and  women — people  of 
rare  culture — and  I  wanted  to  fit  you  for  the  position 
you  would  take  among  them.  I  wanted  to  help  you. 
Your  simplicity  of  thought,  your  freshness,  attracted 
me,  they  are  very  charming;  but,  after  all,  too  many 
gaucheries  of  speech  and  thought  become  irritating 
in  time  and  cease  to  amuse.  I  desired  to  spare  you 
this,  I  wanted  to  teach  you,  and  I  thought  you  were 
interested.  It  seems  I  was  mistaken." 

"No,  you  were  not  mistaken,"  I  replied,  "I  was 
interested,  intensely  interested,  up  to  the  moment 
when  I  discovered " 

"What?" 

"That  you  did  not  teach  me  out  of  love  of  me  or 
love  of  your  subject — of  theology,  books,  art,  pictures 
— but  because  you  feared  the  opinion  of  your  world. 
Your  friends  might  laugh  at  your  wife,  at  her  old- 
fashionedness,  at  her — provincialism.  She  might  be 
guilty  of  out-of-date  religious  sentiments  and  be  held 
up  to  ridicule.  She  might  go  to  church  in  a — middle- 
class  sort  of  way  in  her  best  frock  and  hat.  Monism, 

[363] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

or  whatever  you  call  it,  might  be  engrossing  the  atten- 
tion of  your  seekers  after  truth;  she  has  never  even 
heard  of  the  ism,  she  only  possesses  an  old-fashioned 
deity  called  God.  Browning  might  be  under  dis- 
cussion; she  is  ignorant  of  his  works.  Music  is 
throwing  the  whole  company  into  soulful  ecstasies; 
she  has  no  soul  for  music,  and  shocks  the  assemblage 
by  expressing  her  yearnings  for  The  Garden  of  Sleep 
in  preference  to  some  dislocating  thunder  of  Wagner's. 
Art  may  be  causing  them  to  prance  round  the  room 
and  roll  eyes  heavenward ;  she  doesn't  understand 
pictures,  and  abominates  the  Dutch  School  and  large- 
faced,  heavy-eyed  Madonnas.  And  she  keeps  you  on 
tenterhooks,  wondering  what  she  will  say  and  do 
next ;  so  you  teach  and  talk  to  her  a  little  more,  instruct 
her  a  little  more,  read  her  drier  books,  and  drag  her 
to  picture  galleries  and  concert  halls,  when  she  is 
longing  to  enjoy  these  things  in  her  own  way,  not  as 
a  means  to  education  crammed  down  her  unwilling 
throat,  but  as  a  new  and  delightful  country — unex- 
plored, and  running  over  with  precious  gifts.  She 
must  be  clever  and  showy  and  epigrammatic  so  that 
she  may  shine  in  your — set,  when  she  wants  to  dally 
and  play  and  be  loved." 

Eustace  rose  and  confronted  me. 

"Do  you  know  you  are  talking  like  an  Adelphi 
melodrama  ?  " 

"I  never  saw  one,  Eustace,  but  if  the  drama  feels 
as  unhappy  as  I,  it  is  in  a  bad  way,"  I  said. 

[364] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

"And  you  are  extremely  illogical;  it  is  not  ten 
days  since  you  were  wishing  to  go  to  theatres  and 
concerts  and  picture  galleries." 

"And  I  still  wish,  but  to  be  amused.  Just  to  go 
with  you  and  laugh  and  enjoy  ourselves.  Not  to  be 
instructed  for  the  sake  of  what  other  people  may  think 
of  me." 

"  Is  it  a  sin  to  wish  you  to  shine  before  my  friends  ?  " 

"Yes,  if  it  is  to  be  achieved  at  the  expense  of  my 
feelings.  You  have  hurt  me  over  and  over  again  this 
week.  When  have  you  ever  considered  my  feelings 
or  wishes  before  your  own?"  and  my  voice  suddenly 
blazed  into  anger.  "We  have  read,  you  have  talked, 
we  have  walked,  we  have  driven  just  as  you  so  willed. 
You  have  corrected  me  half  a  dozen  times  a  day, 
kindly  and  gently  I  admit,  but  the  correction  has 
stung.  I  was  led  to  believe  that  the  engagement 
days  of  a  girl  were  the  most  radiant  of  her  life,  and — 
I  have  cried  myself  to  sleep  each  night.  The  other 
evening,  for  instance,  when  I  said  I  was  sorry  for 
being  cross  and  that  it  made  me  miserable  to  disagree 
with  you,  all  you  did  was  to  quote  some  line  of  poetry, 
which  did  not  seem  to  my  dense  understanding  to 
bear  upon  the  subject,  when  I  was  aching  for  you  to 
take  me  in  your  arms  and  love  me;  and  I  had  found 
it  so  hard  to  say  those  words,  to  say  I  was  sorry.  A 
girl  likes  a  little  fussing  over — I  am  told  it  is  the  only 
time  she  ever  gets  it;  she  has  to  do  the  fussing  after- 
ward— she  likes  a  little  courting,  she  so  enjoys  being 

[365] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

queen  for  the  moment,  whereas  I  have  had  to  dance 
to  your  piping.  I  don't  mind  doing  my  share  of  it, 
but  I  won't  do  it  all;  and  yet  I  was  prepared  to  do 
so  much  for  you  had  you  gone  the  right  way  with  me. 
I  can  be  led  but  not  driven.  That  is  where  Angela 
has  always  made  a  mistake,  she  has  bullied  me.  At 
first,  when  you  asked  me  to  marry  you,  I  thought  it 
was  only  your  wealth  and  all  that  it  could  give  me 
that  was  attracting  me;  but  later  I  found  it  wasn't 
that,  it  was  you — yourself.  How  you  talked  in  the 
library  that  night!  Were  you  only  acting  a  part,  I 
wonder,  and  has  this  been  your  real  self  of  the  last 
few  days  ?  I  think  from  the  very  beginning  I  realized 
I  did  not  love  you,  but  you  attracted,  fascinated  me. 
And  I  was  flattered  that  you  should  pick  me  out  of 
all  the  women  you  knew,  and  I  was  determined  to 
be  interested  in  the  subjects  in  which  you  were  in- 
terested. Ours  should  be  a  soul  union.  You  should 
always  find  in  me  a  sympathetic  companion.  I  was 
prepared  even  to  tackle  The  Origin  of  Species,  though 
I  had  to  read  each  page  over  five  times  before  I  had 
grasped  its  meaning.  So — so  it  came  as  a  shock 
to  me  to  find  that  you  did  not  want  me  so  much  as 
a  companion,  a  wife,  but  as  a  pupil  to  train  and  mould, 
as  a  something  of  which  to  be  proud  to  your  friends. 
It  came  as  a  shock  to  me  to  find  that  you  did  not 
care  two  brass  farthings  for  me." 

"  Why  then  should  I  wish  to  marry  you  ?  " 
"I  don't  know,"  I  replied,  "it  puzzles  me.     It  may 
[366] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

be  that  you  were  flattered  by  my  admiration  of  you. 
Aunt  Menelophe  says  I  can't  hide  anything,  and  that 
my  feelings,  instead  of  being  in  their  proper  quarters 
and  under  control,  are  all  over  the  place.  You  may 
have  thought  me — malleable.  You  may  have  felt  as 
a  potter  does  toward  a  bit  of  soft  clay — that  you  would 
like  to  mould  me,  lick  me  into  shape.  But  you  began 
your  moulding  a  little  too  roughly.  But  whatever 
your  motives,  and  I  cannot  follow  the  workings  of 
your  mind,  of  this  I  am  convinced — you  don't  love 
me,  and  I  don't  love  you." 

He  made  a  movement  of  impatience. 

"How  you  harp  on  love.  Love  is  an  old-fashioned 
sentiment." 

"  It  is  not  too  old-fashioned  for  me,"  I  said  steadily. 

"  But  I  am  sure  when  we  have  settled  down,  when 
you  are  older  and  less  emotional,  we  shall  be  very 
happy  together.  It  is  wonderful,  the  adaptability  of 
women,  and  you  always — interest  me." 

I  looked  at  him  carefully  from  the  top  of  his  well- 
brushed  head  to  the  toe  of  his  well-polished  boot. 
And  this  was  all  he  had  to  say  to  my  outburst. 

"Thank  you,"  I  said,  "interest  is  not  enough." 

He  sat  down  again  and  took  my  hand. 

"Hazel,  dear,  I  believe  I  love  you  as  much  as — 
I  could  love  any  one." 

"I  feel  honored,  Eustace,  but  strange  to  say  that 
does  not  satisfy  me.  I  want  something  more.  You 
are  the  type  of  man  who  will  always  love  yourself  best." 

[367] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Don't  all  men?"  and  he  asked  the  question  as 
though  he  believed  it. 

"No,"  I  said,  "my  father  didn't  for  one,  and — 
I  know  of  another." 

"You  mean  Mr.  Inderwick,  I  suppose — the  man 
your  gardener  said  was  the  cause  of  your  jumping 
about  among  the  cabbages  ?  " 

His  voice  was  ironic. 

I  struggled  against  my  anger,  but  my  cheeks 
flamed. 

"Yes,"  I  said  quietly,  "I  mean  Mr.  Inderwick. 
You  and  he  are  the  exact  opposites  to  one  another. 
His  exterior  is  rough,  but  he  has  the  mind  and  heart 
of  a  gentleman.  Your  appearance,"  and  I  again 
looked  him  up  and  down,  "is  that  of  a  gentleman, 
but- 

"  Finish  it,"  he  said,  going  white. 

"  No,  I  think  I  won't,"  I  said  more  gently,  "  I  might 
be  sorry  afterward,  and,  after  all,  I  must  not  forget 
that  once  I  said  I  would  be  your  wife.  That  once 
seems  so  long  ago,  and  yet  it  is  only  a  little  more  than 
a  week.  And  now  I  must  say  good-bye;  we  shan't 
meet  again.  Either  you  or  I  must  leave  here.  I— 
am  sorry  I  made  such  a  mistake.  More  sorry  than 
I  can  tell  you.  You  probably  can't  forgive  me  now, 
but  some  day  you  will  thank  me." 

"You  have  placed  me  in  a  ridiculous  position,"  he 
said  savagely.  "You  whom  I  fondly  imagined  were 
a  little,  simple  country  girl.  All  women  are  deceitful. 

[368] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

You  have  made  me  a  laughing-stock  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world." 

"Your  philosophy  will  help  you  to  bear  it,"  I  an- 
swered wearily,  "and  you  can  tell  your  friends  that 
you  broke  off  the  engagement,  and  not  7.  You  can 
tell  them  you  found  me  too  gauche  and  uneducated. 
I  shan't  mind,  and  it  is  true.  Good-bye,  Eustace, 
and  try  to  forgive  me." 

I  wonder  now  how  my  trembling  legs  supported 
me  down  that  long  shrubbery,  for  I  was  as  an  old 
lady;  but  somehow  I  got  into  the  house  and  up  to 
my  room  and  on  to  my  bed.  The  tears  seemed  to 
be  stopped  up,  but  my  heart  and  head  and  body  were 
one  gigantic  ache. 


24  [369] 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

Aunt  Menelophe  Scolds  and  Afterward  Comforts  Me 

I  MUST  have  lain  on  the  bed,  with  my  face  buried 
in  the  pillows,  for  a  couple  of  hours  before  Aunt 
Menelophe  came  to  me.  I  heard  the  dog-cart 
drive  round  to  the  front,  I  heard  Eustace's  voice 
saying  "Good-bye,"  and  then  came  the  tap  at  the 
door. 

"Oh,  Aunt  Menelophe,"  I  cried,  "I  have  been 
such  a  little  fool!" 

"Yes,  dear,"  she  said  soothingly,  stroking  my 
hair. 

"  You  think  so  ?  "  I  questioned,  sitting  up  in  bed. 

"Certainly,  dear." 

I  lay  down  and  groaned. 

"But  you  are  doing  better  now,"  she  said  more 
encouragingly.  "Your  senses  are  coming  back." 

"  You  think  I  have  done  the  right  thing  ?  " 

"Undoubtedly.  I  am  only  surprised,  knowing 
you,  you  did  not  do  it  sooner." 

"I  have  been  too  utterly  wretched,"  I  moaned. 
"I  have  nearly — cut  my  throat,  Aunt  Menelophe." 

[370] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"You  mean  poison,  surely,"  she  laughed,  "it  is 
more  romantic,  and  the  other  is  so — so  unclean." 

"Don't,"  I  wailed,  "don't  laugh  at  me,  Aunt 
Menelophe.  It  is  no  joking  matter." 

"No,"  she  said,  "now  you  mention  it,  I  don't 
think  it  is.  I  am  trying  to  imagine  the  faces  of  your 
mother  and  Angela  and  all  Heatherland,  and  I  am 
wondering  if  the  calico  and  flannel  have  yet  been 
purchased.  What  will  they  all  say?" 

"What  will  they  say?"  I  cried,  rumpling  up  my 
hair.  "What  will  they  say?  That  is  the  question 
I  have  been  asking  myself  for  the  last  two  solid  hours. 
I  daren't  go  home." 

"Of  course  you  daren't,"  said  Aunt  Menelophe 
decidedly,  "you  must  stay  with  me." 

"  But  I  can't  always  live  here." 

"  You  can  if  you  like." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"I  love  you  wildly,  Aunt  Menelophe,  but — I 
couldn't  leave  mother." 

"No,  perhaps  not,"  she  agreed,  "and — there  may 
be  some  one  else  you  would  like  to  see  sometimes." 

My  cheeks  became  hot. 

"You  mean  Sammy.  Yes,  I  should  miss  dear 
old  Sammy." 

"No,  I  don't  mean  Sammy,"  she  contradicted. 

"Aunt  Menelophe,"  I  observed,  "I  think  it  would 
show  greater  delicacy  of  feeling  if  we — did  not  discuss 

any  other  man  when  poor  Eustace  is  barely " 

[371] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

I  paused. 

"Cold  in  his  grave?  You  surely  don't  mean 
that  ?  "  she  asked. 

"When  poor  Eustace's  tobacco  is  still  lingering 
about  the  house,"  I  finished,  ignoring  her  inter- 
ruption. 

"That  is  Wellesley's  tobacco,"  she  said  placidly. 
"  I  know  the  peculiar  scent." 

"  How  did  he  look  ?  "  I  asked  presently. 

"A  little  pale,"  she  answered. 

"That  was  rather  nice  of  him,"  I  said,  smoothing 
my  pillow. 

"But  he  made  an  excellent  lunch.  He  had  two 
helpings  of  roast  beef  and  one  of  cabinet  pudding," 
she  added,  a  little  unnecessarily. 

"Of  course  he  had  a  long  journey  before  him," 
I  remarked. 

"Of  course!"  she  agreed. 

"That  reminds  me  I  have  had  no  lunch,"  I  said, 
jumping  up  suddenly. 

"Are  you  hungry?"  There  was  a  surprise  in  her 
accents  which  annoyed  me. 

"Not  very,"  I  replied,  lying  down  again,  "only  a 
little  sinking." 

"That  is  not  surprising  after  what  you  have  gone 
through.  Strong  emotion  always  produces  a  sinking. 
A  cup  of  tea  by-and-by  will  refresh  you." 

Now  the  thought  of  roast  beef  was  infinitely  more 
attractive  to  me  than  tea,  but  I  could  not  say  so. 

[372] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Do  the  servants  and  Wellesley  know?"  I  asked, 
turning  over  on  my  face  not  to  feel  the  emptiness. 

"Servants  know  everything,  and  Wellesley  is  not 
an  idiot.  Parkins  and  James  are  at  the  moment 
discussing  you  in  the  pantry.  I  overheard  them  as 
I  came  up  the  stairs.  Of  course  you  have  behaved 
badly — heartlessly,  in  fact." 

"Oh,  Aunt  Menelophe,  you  are  cruel,"  I  moaned. 
"You  are  very  unsympathetic,  and  I  am  so  miser- 
able." 

Then,  to  my  own  surprise,  I  burst  into  tears.  At 
once  her  arms  were  round  me. 

"Poor  little  Hazel!" — and  she  drew  my  head  on 
to  her  shoulder — "  have  I  teased  you  too  much,  hurt 
you?  But  I  wanted  to  punish  you  a  little — well, 
because  I  think  you  have  behaved  very  foolishly, 
rashly.  I  am  going  to  preach  to  you  a  little. 
From  the  very  beginning  you  knew  you  did  not 
love  this  man.  Did  you,  now?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"You  were  attracted  by  his  wealth,  his  appear- 
ance, the  life  he  offered  you;  but  there  was  no  love 
in  your  heart.  This,  you  thought,  did  not  matter, 
so  long  as  he  loved  you." 

I  nodded  again. 

"Well,  this  was  not  exactly  an  ideal  feeling  for 
a  young  girl.  Girls  are  not  nice  when  they  are  mer- 
cenary and  ambitious.  We  want  our  girls  to  be 
simple  and  sweet  and  tender-hearted  and  loving, 

[373] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

and  not — calculating."  I  shrank  a  little  as  she  stroked 
my  cheek  gently.  "I  was  disappointed  in  you, 
grievously  so.  I  had  expected  something  finer  of 
John  Wycherley's  daughter,  for  he,  in  every  sense, 

could  answer  to  the  grand  old  name  of  gentleman 

She  stopped  and  mused  a  little.  "He  was  the  finest 
man  I  ever  met,  and  the  best.  So — I  was  disappointed 
in  you,  angry  with  Eustace,  and  still  more  angry  with 
myself  for  allowing  things  to  come  to  such  [a  pass. 
One  thing,  however,  comforted  me — I  knew  the 
engagement  would  not  last.  That  is  why  I  insisted 
upon  your  writing  to  your  mother.  I  realized  that 
it  might  precipitate  matters.  As  soon  as  the  gravity 
of  the  step  you  had  taken  was  driven  home  to  you  I 
felt  all  would  be  well." 

"How  could  you  tell?" 

"You  have  a  certain  amount  of  sense.  You  belong 
to  that  type  of  woman  who  will  always  love  with 
her  heart  and  not  with  her  head,  which  is  the  best 
type;  and,  of  course,  you  discovered  Eustace  did  not 
love  you." 

I  started.     "  Not  a  little  bit  ?  " 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  she  said  emphatically.  "Eustace 
Escourt  is  selfish  to  the  backbone.  He  thinks  far  more 
of  the  set  of  his  tie  than  the  feelings  of  a  woman." 

I  lay  and  pondered  this  over. 

"I  found  out  he  did  not  love  me  very  much,"  I 
said  presently,  "not  as — as  men  do  love  women. 
But  why — why  did  he  ask  me  to  marry  him  ?  " 

[374] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

"You  must  ask  me  something  much  easier,"  said 
Aunt  Menelophe;  "I  am  unequal  to  coping  with 
the  mental  processes  of  such  a  man.  And  now  come 
and  have  some  lunch;  it  is  being  kept  hot  for  you. 
You  look  quite  pinched  and  worn." 

I  rose  with  alacrity. 

"Are  you  still  disappointed  with  me,  Aunt  Menel- 
ophe?" I  asked,  picking  at  one  of  the  buttons  on 
her  sleeve.  "I  should  be — sorry  if  you  were." 

"I  think  you  are  the  pluckiest  little  girl  I  have 
known,  and  I  am  sure  your  father  is  smiling  down 
approval  on  you.  It  is  not  an  easy  thing  to  break 
with  a  man  like  Eustace,"  was  her  comforting  and 
cheering  reply. 

She  sat  and  watched  me  while  I  ate  my  lunch. 

"What  did  Eustace  say  to  you?"  I  inquired, 
balancing  a  roast  potato  at  the  end  of  my  fork. 

"He  said  that  you  had  found  out  that  you  were 
not  suited  for  one  another;  that  you  felt  unequal 
to  the  position  of  being  his  wife;  that  you  preferred 
Mr.  Inderwick;  and  that  perhaps,  after  all,  it  was 
better  for  you  to  marry  a  provincial." 

"Oh!"   I  gasped. 

"Did  you  say  you  preferred  Mr.  Inderwick?'* 

"Certainly  not." 

She  reflected  for  a  little. 

"It  is  incomprehensible  to  me,  Wellesley's  liking 
for  that  man,"  she  said;  "he  seems  fascinated  by 
him." 

[375] 


HAZEL  OF^HEATHERLAND 

"Perhaps  he  Is  nicer  to  men  than  to  girls,"  I  sug- 
gested. 

"Perhaps  he  is,"  she  agreed.  "He  would  hardly 
dare  to  instruct  them  to  the  extent  he  does  women. 
And,  of  course,  he  has  helped  Wellesley  a  good  deal 
in  his  career;  he  knows  a  good  many  people  who  are 
by  way  of  being  literary.  They  are  not  very  big,  or 
they  would  not  pose;  but  they  are  helpful." 

"Aunt  Menelophe,"  I  said,  "I  am  sick  of  the  very 
words  literary  and  culture.  Are  all  literary  people 
horrid  ?  " 

"  Not  all,"  she  replied,  laughing.     "  Wellesley  isn't." 

"And  do  they  always  talk  about  things  in  the 
abstract,  and  nothing  real  ?  " 

"Oh,  no!  They  chiefly  talk  about  themselves, 
and  they  are  anything  but  abstract,  which  is  the  pity 
of  it,"  she  replied  gravely,  picking  a  dead  leaf  from 
the  plant  in  the  centre  of  the  table  and  throwing  it 
into  the  fire. 

"I  don't  think  I  should  care  to  marry  a  literary 
man,"  I  observed. 

"No;  they  are  unpunctual  at  meals,  and  when  they 
do  arrive  they  eat  more  than  their  share." 

"Does  Wellesley?"   I  asked. 

"I  exclude  Wellesley  in  everything,"  she  said;  "he 
is  quite  an  exception,  as  you  must  see." 


[376] 


CHAPTER  XXX 

/  Find  Happiness 

IT  was  last  evening  that  Robert  came.  I  was 
in  the  library  curled  up  on  the  white  bearskin 
rug  before  the  fire,  in  the  gloaming.  The  fire 
was  clear  and  red,  and  in  its  glowing  depths  I  could 
see  many  castles,  and  in  each  there  were  always 
two  figures — a  man's  and  a  girl's.  In  one  they  were 
having  breakfast  together  in  an  old-fashioned  oak- 
panelled  room,  and  she  was  talking  in  her  "usual 
illogical  way."  In  another  she  was  dusting — not 
Parian  jugs  and  bronze  horses — but  a  large  bowl 
(which  the  man  called  an  ash  tray),  and  arranging, 
in  little  piles  on  the  mantel -shelf,  a  gross  of  matches 
which  the  man  watched  with  a  jealous  eye  for  fear  that 
perchance  she  might  remove  one.  In  a  third,  they 
were  in  the  summer  sunshine  wading  along  the  brown 
sands  and  through  the  little  pools  below  Dawpool 
in  search  of  cockles  and  mussels.  In  a  fourth,  they 
were  sitting  in  a  big  arm — in  two  big  armchairs  before 
a  cosy  fire,  and  she  was  reading  aloud  to  him — did  I 
begin  to  write  The  Origin  of  Species?  For  it  was 

[377] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

certainly  not  that  dry  stuff,  but  a  beautiful  human 
book,  moving  them  to  laughter  and  tears — The  Mill 
on  the  Floss.  They  were  all  homely  pictures,  but  the 
people  in  them  were  very  happy,  and  the  man  was 
big  and  strong  and  good.  ...  A  scalding  tear 
dropped  on  to  the  bearskin,  and  the  fire  became  a  blur, 
and  it  was  then  I  heard  his  step  in  the  hall  (I  should 
know  it  anywhere),  and  the  door  open.  ...  I  don't 
know  how  I  came  to  be  gathered  up  in  his  strong 
arms  as  I  half  rose  to  meet  him.  I  know  I  did  not 
give  him  permission  to  behave  in  such  intimate  fashion. 
Perhaps  my  "Oh,  Robert!"  was  a  little  too  glad,  I 
will  admit  that ;  he  says  it  was  the  two  big  tears  shining 
in  the  firelight  that  did  it,  and  that  his  arms  involun- 
tarily left  his  side.  But  whatever  the  cause,  I  was 
very  content  to  be  there.  We  sat  so  for  some  time  in 
silence.  He  did  not  kiss  me,  but  drew  my  face  against 
his  and  held  me  closely,  and — I  was  happy. 

"Can  it  be  true,  little  Hazel?"    he  said  at  length. 

I  nodded. 

"Yes,  if  you  will  have  me,"  I  whispered. 

"Have  you?  It  looks  like  it,  don't  you  think?" 
he  asked. 

"It  does  rather,"  I  said,  and  he  laughed. 

"How  did  you  guess?  Why  did  you  come?" 
I  whispered  again. 

"Mrs.  Menzies  wired  for  me  this  afternoon." 

"Aunt  Menelophe  wired  for  you!"  I  shouted, 
starting  up. 

[378] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

"Now  don't  get  excited,"  he  commanded  in  his 
old  direct  way,  and  pulling  me  back.  "  Mrs.  Menzies 
and  I  have  been  in  correspondence  for  some  time." 

"No!"    I  gasped. 

"Yes,"  he  said  calmly. 

I  closed  my  eyes. 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it,"  I  murmured  faintly.  "  Aunt 
Menelophe  is  a  base  traitor." 

"  Aunt  Menelophe  is  the  finest  and  noblest  of  women 
on  God's  earth.  She  is  an  absolute  brick,"  he  ob- 
served with  conviction. 

"Oh!"   I  said. 

"Yes;  the  very  day  after  you  arrived  here,  in 
answer  to  a  letter  I  had  ventured  to  write  her,  she 
wrote  to  me  and  said " 

My  eyelids  were  glued  together. 

"I  can  bear  it,"  I  said  in  a  strangled  voice.  "Go 
on.  But  Aunt  Menelophe  and  I  are  enemies  for 
life." 

"Mrs.  Menzies  will  visit  us  twice  a  year  regularly, 
and  we  will  wait  upon  her  hand-and-foot,"  he  said 
with  determination. 

"Go  on,"  I  repeated;  "to  talk  is  the  easiest  thing 
in  the  world." 

"In  this  letter  she  said,  'Don't  give  up  hope;  Hazel 
is  a  little  wobbly. ' ' 

"  She  didn't ! "  I  shouted,  again  starting  up. 

"Do  sit  still,"  he  said  plaintively.  "I  can't  get 
on  with  my  story  if  you  jump  about  so;  in  fact,  I 

[379] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

don't  think  I  will  tell  you  any  more.     I  want  to  talk 
about  many  things." 

"I  promise  I  won't  move  again  if  you  will  tell  me 
everything,  every  word  of  this  shameful  story.  If 
you  suppress  one  single  item  I  shall — break  off  our 
engagement." 

He  laughed  and  told  me  all,  and  I  sat  in  silence 
for  a  long  time  considering  Aunt  Menelophe's  du- 
plicity. 

"Well,  little  girl?"  he  said  softly  after  a  time, 
stroking  my  hair. 

"I  say  again  it  is  the  most  shameful  story  I  have 
ever  heard.  I  could  not  have  believed  it  of  Aunt 
Menelophe;  I  trusted  in  her  implicitly.  To  think 
that  while  I  had  been  confiding  in  her,  relying  upon 
her  honor,  comforted  by  her  sweet  sympathy,  she 
has  all  the  time  been  drawing  me  out,  making  me 
say  things  and  passing  them  on  to  you.  Oh,  it  is 
horrible,  horrible!" 

"Not  quite  that;  you  exaggerate  it.  She  has 
never  once  repeated  anything  you  actually  said. 
She  has  in  all  written  me  four  letters " 

"And  in  the  last,"  I  interrupted,  "she  actually 
said  she  thought  I  was  beginning  to  want  you." 

"Those  were  her  words." 

"Followed  by  a  telegram  to-day  saying  that  I  had 
put  such  a  wish  into  words  ? " 

He  nodded.  I  made  a  big  effort  to  wrench  myself 
away.  I  felt  suffocated. 

[380] 


HAZEL    OF   HEATHERLAND 

"That  is  not  fair,"  he  said  sternly,  gripping  me 
tightly.  "You  promised  you  would  sit  still." 

"But  this  is  awful,  Robert,"  I  gasped,  struggling; 
"human  flesh  cannot  stand  it." 

"Well,  then,  sit  still;   it's  quite  easy  if  you  try." 

"  But  I  have  been  actually  flung  at  your  head." 

"I've  liked  it,"  he  answered,  smiling. 

"What  must  you  think  of  me?"  I  asked,  covered 
with  shame. 

"Shall  I  tell  you?" 

"  Please,"  I  said  under  my  breath. 

And  he  told  me,  but — I  can't  write  it  down,  it  is 
too  foolish  and — beautiful ;  and  then  he  drew  my 
face  to  his  and  kissed  me. 

"That  is  not  me,"  I  said,  shaking  my  head. 

"Your  grammar  is  somewhat  shaky,  but  it  is  you 
all  the  same,"  he  said,  smiling,  "my  own  dearest 
little  girl." 

"Robert,  you  are  big  and  kind  and  magnanimous," 
I  sighed.  "  Men  are  nice  and  superior." 

"All  of  them?"  he  asked. 

"Not  quite  all,"  I  corrected  myself.  "Did  Aunt 
Menelophe  tell  you  I  had  been  engaged  ?  " 

"Yes."     His  voice  was  grave. 

'*  And  yet  you  still  care  for  me  ?  " 

"And  yet  I  still  care  for  you,"  he  said,  his  face 
becoming  very  tender,  "and  am  glad  about  it  now." 

"You  are  glad?" 

"  Yes,  for  I  think  it  taught  you  to  love  me,  or  rather 
[381] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

to  realize  that  you  loved  me,  for  I  believe  that  you 
have  cared  for  me  a  little  all  along  without  know- 
ing it." 

I  nodded. 

"I  believe  I  have." 

And  then  one  of  those  silences,  which  are  more 
beautiful  and  completely  satisfying  than  words,  fell 
between  us.  I  gazed  at  my  castles,  and  Robert 
gazed  at  me. 

"By  the  way,"  he  said  after  a  time,  "have  you 
noticed  my  new  suit  and  boots  and  tie  ?  " 

"Yes,"  I  replied. 

He  regarded  himself  gravely. 

"  Do  you  think  they  fit  ?  "  he  inquired  anxiously. 

"Perfectly.  I  hardly  knew  you,"  I  said,  trying  to 
suppress  a  choke  in  my  voice.  But  his  quick  ear 
detected  it. 

"Why,  my  little  Hazel,"  he  cried,  "what  is  the 
matter  ?  I  believe  you  are  crying.  What  have  I  said  ?  " 

"Nothing,  nothing,"  I  whispered,  burying  my  face 
in  his  shoulder;  "but  please  do  not  ever  mention 
those — clothes  again.  I  am  too  ashamed.  It  was 
so  mean  and  petty  and  horrid  of  me.  Promise  me 
you  will  forget  it,  I  want  you  to  so  much,  and  to  for- 
give me.  You  don't  know  how  I  have  ached  to 
see  you  in  the  old,  wrinkly,  shabby  coat  and  moulting 
tie  and  knotted  bootlaces.  I  have  pined  for  the 
sight  of  a  knotted  bootlace." 

"My  poor,  little  girl,"  he  said  tenderly,  hugging 

[382] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

me  to  him  closely,  "my  silly  little  girl.  I  didn't 
mind;  you  were  quite  right,  I  was  too  careless  of  my 
appearance.  I  should  be  dissatisfied  if  you  were  not 
fresh  and  pretty  and  dainty.  I  shall  never  forget 
how  you  looked  that  day  in  church." 

"You  have  told  me  before,"  I  interrupted;  "it 
was  the  day  you  were  so — snubby  and  unkind  to  me; 
but  haven't  you  anything  ancient  now — not  a  single 
primeval  garment?" 

A  twinkle  crept  into  his  eyes. 

"Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,"  he  confessed,  "I  did 
keep  the  old,  wrinkly  coat  just  to  smoke  in.  It  is  so 
confoundedly  comfortable.  I  gave  instructions  for  it 
to  be  thrown  away,  and  afterward  I  fished  it  out  of 
a  heap  of  rubbish  stowed  away  in  the  boxroom.  I 
don't  know  what  led  me  up  there,  it  must  have  been 
instinct  in  conjunction  with  a  tightness  across  my 
chest,  caused,  I  suppose,  by  my  new  coat.  So  I 
sneaked  it  away  one  night  under  cover  of  the  dark- 
ness, and  hid  it  before  Mrs.  Egerton  found  me  out, 
and  if  you  don't  mind  I  will  wear  it  occasionally 
in  an  evening  just  to  smoke  in."  His  face  was  whim- 
sical and  pleading. 

"You  shall  wear  it  every  night  as  long  as  it  hangs 
together,"  I  vowed;  "  and  then  we  will  have  it  patched. 
And  if  ever  you  miss  putting  it  on  I  shall  —  refuse 
to  sit  with  you." 

"I'll  never  miss,"  he  said  with  promptitude;  and 
then  we  heard  Aunt  Menelophe's  step,  and  she  paused 

[383] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

outside  the  door  while  she  hummed  a  little  tune,  which 
was  quite  unnecessary,  as  Robert  and  I  were  sitting 
on  opposite  sides  of  the  hearth  as  she  entered. 

Her  attitude  was  one  of  airy  unconcern,  almost,  I 
was  going  to  say,  of  brazenness.  She  advanced 
toward  the  coalbox,  still  humming. 

"I  came  to  see  how  the  fire  was  getting  on,"  she 
said,  picking  up  the  tongs,  "some  people  have  a  way 
of  letting  it  out." 

"  Aunt  Menelophe,  you  are  a  base  traitor,"  I  observed, 
seizing  her  hand  and  kissing  it.  "  Your  and  my  ways 
in  life  will  now  lie  apart." 

"Well,  then,  you  must  leave  my  house  at  once," 
she  replied,  a  little  smile  hovering  round  the  corners 
of  her  sweet  mouth,  "  but — Mr.  Inderwick  may  stay." 


[384] 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

The  Eve  of  My  Wedding-day 

ROBERT  and  I  are  to  be  married  to-morrow,  the 
21st  of  June,  and  I  am  so  happy  I  can  hardly 
bear  it.  Every  now  and  again  I  have  to 
screw  up  my  eyes  and  pinch  myself  to  make  sure  it 
is  all  true.  I  wander  from  one  room  to  another,  and 
I  don't  know  them,  for  there  are  roses  everywhere: 
pink — of  that  heavenly  tint  only  to  be  found  inside 
tiny  sea-shells  and  in  the  faint  flush  of  dawn  on  early 
summer  mornings,  and — in  roses;  yellow — pale  on 
the  outside,  and  with  hearts  of  a  deeper  glow ;  crimson 
— great  big  luscious  fellows,  velvety  and  dewy;  white 
— dear  little  sweet-scented  monthly  roses,  very  wide 
open  and  wide  awake;  and  even  little  starry  wild  roses 
peeping  out  from  their  lovely  foliage  of  green  at  their 
bigger  and  more  important  brethren.  I  give  my- 
self another  little  pinch.  Can  these  be  our  rooms — 
our  dining-  and  drawing-rooms  ?  Hitherto  Angela  has 
not  permitted  roses  to  enter  them,  for  roses  drop 
petals,  and  petals  are  untidy;  but  Robert  asked  for 
them  (at  my  request),  and  Angela  is  wonderfully 
25  [385] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

submissive  to  Robert,  though  she  says  things  behind 
his  back  at  times.  Then,  too,  the  twelve  faded 
damask  chairs  have  new,  sprightly  chintz  covers, 
strewn  with  dainty,  wee  roses.  I  bought  and  paid 
for  the  chintz  out  of  my  trousseau  money.  It  meant 
doing  without  another  new  hat  and  a  second-best 
parasol;  but  one  could  not  possibly  require  two  new 
hats  and  two  parasols,  all  at  once,  in  Heatherland; 
it  would  be  wilful  extravagance.  Besides,  I  never 
use  a  parasol;  I  only  carry  one  to  church  on  Sundays 
to  impress  people. 

Mother  is  radiant  over  the  new  covers.  Phcebe 
Ellis  made  them;  and  I  know  mother  goes  half  a 
dozen  times  a  day  to  peep  at  them,  and  there  is  a 
beautiful  look  of  satisfaction  on  her  dear  face  every 
time  she  enters  the  room.  I  catch  her  surreptitiously 
closing  the  laths  of  the  blinds.  A  stray  sunbeam 
has  been  caught  dancing  over  the  chair  near  to  the 
whatnot;  it  must  be  banished  at  once.  It  seems 
funny  to  think  that  soon  I  shall  have  the  blinds  up 
all  day  at  the  Old  Hall  Farm,  sun  or  no  sun;  the 
Dee  and  the  banks  of  yellow  sand  and  the  blue  Welsh 
mountains  will  never  be  shut  out  from  our  view.  I 
shall  look  across  at  the  shrouded  windows  of  Shady 
Oak,  and  give  a  gentle,  little  chuckle  of  satisfaction. 

From  the  roses  in  the  house  Dibbs  and  I  wander 
to  the  garden  and  Sammy,  and  I  find  roses  there, 
roses  everywhere.  He  and  I  keep  having  last  little 
gossips,  he  assuring  me  that  "wimin"  (barring  my- 

[386] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

self)  are  "dry  hash."  He  forgets  that  I  shall  be 
living  quite  close  to  him,  and  that  there  will  be  fre- 
quent opportunities  in  the  future  for  impressing 
this  depressing  and  mournful  fact  upon  me.  This 
morning  I  said — 

"Sammy,  you  are  really  jealous  that  you  yourself 
are  not  being  married.  It  seems  sad  that  no  young 
woman  would  ever  have  you." 

I  thought  it  wise  to  slip  away  the  next  moment  to 
my  room  to  have  another  peep  at  my  wedding-gown. 
I  take  a  chair  to  it  and  sit  down  and  gaze.  It  is 
Aunt  Menelophe's  wedding  gift.  Reas,  of  Basnett 
Street,  call  it  chiffon,  but  it  is  nothing  of  the  kind; 
it  is  a  bewildering  mass  of  filmy,  frothy,  billowing 
sea-foam.  When  I  am  not  peeping  at  it  I  know 
Rose  and  Elizabeth  are,  so  it  is  never  alone.  I  try 
to  imagine  what  use  it  will  be  to  me  in  the  future. 
It  will  not  harmonize  with  Robert's  smoking-coat. 
He  says  we  shall  go  to  London  once  a  year,  and  I 
can  then  wear  it;  and  Angela  suggests  my  selling 
it.  The  romantic  side  of  my  sister  has  never  been 
strongly  developed. 

The  written  recipe  book  is  voluminous  and  fat. 
I  notice  the  page  given  over  to  pickled  onions  is  heavily 
scored,  especially  the  parts  referring  to  the  weight 
of  peppercorns.  Mrs.  Egerton  will  wonder  at  it,  as 
she  is  to  remain  on  with  us,  for  a  time,  and  house- 
keep.  Robert  says  he  wants  us  to  have  the  long 
days  of  summer  and  autumn  to  ourselves — quite 

[387] 


HAZEL   OF   HEATHERLAND 

to  ourselves — and  that  their  harmony  would  be  com- 
pletely spoiled  were  I  to  be  worried  with  things  like 
butchers  and  the  paraffin  oil  giving  out.  Robert 
takes  a  sensible  view  of  life,  and  does  not  think  it 
essential  that  a  woman  should  know  exactly  how 
many  times  a  week  her  saucepans  are  scoured  out 
with  boiling  soda  water.  Mother  and  Angela  shake 
their  heads  over  the  retention  of  Mrs.  Egerton.  They 
say  it  is  gross  extravagance,  and  will  get  me  into  bad 
ways.  Mother  has  made  me  promise  to  keep  accounts, 
and  has  presented  me  with  a  black  American-cloth 
covered  book  containing  ruled  lines  of  three  columns, 
a  green  purse,  and  two  tin  cash-boxes.  She  says 
the  boxes  won't  be  sufficient  for  properly  kept  accounts, 
but  that  Robert's  empty  Navy-cut  tobacco  tins  will 
fill  up  the  breach.  Now  I  reflect  upon  it,  I  have 
frequently  observed  mother  regarding  tobacco  boxes 
with  a  sort  of  introspective  eye. 

Frederick  Moss  is  engaged  to  Rosabel  Hawthorn, 
and  is  very  pleased  and  proud  at  having  found  some- 
one who  will  marry  him.  She  is  very  happy,  and 
says  being  engaged  to  a  poet  gives  her  funny  feelings. 
I  am  not  surprised.  Frederick  has,  as  a  wedding 
present,  given  me  a  copy  of  his  own  poems  bound 
in  white  leather.  The  paper  is  thick  and  the  margin 
of  the  leaves  is  broad,  and  the  book  does  not  seem 
to  contain  much  else  of  importance. 

Butterby  has  given  me  the  beetle  for  a  wedding 
present.  He  forgot  to  return  it  to  me  after  bor- 

[388] 


HAZEL  OF   HEATHERLAND 

rowing  it  for  the  fourth  time.  It  came  in  a  registered 
parcel,  with  a  few  lines  mentioning  its  value  and  the 
care  I  should  take  of  it.  He  and  Aunt  Menelophe 
arrive  this  evening.  Dear  Aunt  Menelophe,  a  lump 
rises  in  my  throat  whenever  I  think  of  her. 

I  can  hear  mother  and  Angela  away  in  the  spare 
room.  They  are  debating  as  to  whether  Aunt  Menel- 
ophe would  prefer  a  feather  bed  to  a  mattress.  The 
mattress  isn't  springy,  so  I  have  yelled  "feather 
bed."  Angela  has  called  back  that  it  is  unladylike 
to  shout.  She  seems  to  forget  how  often  she  has 
told  me  this. 

The  front  gate  has  just  banged,  and  through  the 
oak  trees  and  sycamores  and  across  the  lawn,  shim- 
mering in  the  afternoon  sunshine,  I  can  see  Robert. 
He  wears  the  old  coat,  and  I  am  quite  sure  now  that 
I  like  old  coats.  Now  he  has  spied  me  at  the  open 
window.  ...  I  can  almost  feel  his  smile.  Now  he 
is  calling  to  me.  .  .  .  And  I  must  go  to  him. 

THE   END 


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